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Srandon Coyle’s 

Wife 


A SEQUEL TO 

“A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET.” 


y Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth. 

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BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE. 


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BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE 


A SEQUEL TO 


A SKELETON IN THE CLOSET.” 













MRS. e'!'d.“Vr south worth, 


Author of ‘ E7n,^ '' The Unloved Wifef Utiknownf 
‘ Gloria f “ The Hidden Handf ^Hor Woman's 

Lovef Leap in the Dark," ^‘‘The 

* 

Lost Lady of Lone," etc., etc. 


V 


*> ' '/I 

c » 


WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRY C. EDWARDS. 


NEW YORK: 

ROBERT BONNER’S 

PUBLISHERS. 



THE LEDGER LIBRARY: ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY. SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, TWELVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. NO. 93, 
SEPTEMBER 16, 1893. ENTERED AT THE NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE AS SECOND CLASS MAIL MATTER. 













COPYRIGHT, 1878 and 1893, 

BY ROBERT BONNER’S SONS. 

(All rights reserved.) 


•> 


'i h 

y « 

> 


1 ' ; 




J 


u 


'K-. 









BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE, 


CHAPTER 1. 

A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 

He '11 be forgotten — like old debts 
By persons who are used to borrow; 

Forgotten — like the sun that sets, 

When shines the new one on the morrow; 

Forgotten like the luscious peach 
That blessed the school-boy last September ; 

Forgotten — like the maiden speech, 

That all men praise and none remember. 

Praed. 

“ I am not, I never was, and never can be, the be- 
trothed of Mr. Brandon Coyle ; therefore there can be 
no marriage ceremony performed now, or ever, between 
that person and myself.” 

These words fell with a stupefying effect upon the 
ears of the assembled company. 

“ Have we heard aright ?” they asked themselves. 

“Oh, she is mad !” muttered Brandon Coyle, recover- 
ing his speech, of which the shock had momentarily 

[ 7 ] 


1 



8 


BRANDON COYLE \s WIFE. 


deprived him. ‘‘ Her head is turned ! Her words are 
false as reckless upon the very face of them ! The 
whole neighborhood knows of our betrothal, indorsed 
by her grandfather !” 

My dear r said Lord Beaudevere, in a low tone of 
surprise, pain and expostulation, while all the company 
except Net Fleming looked on in wonder as to what 
they had heard and seen, and what was to be expected 
further, 

Brandon Coyle, his lips grimly shut, his face pale, and 
his eyes on fire, strode up to the table and fixed his gaze 
upon the face of the young lady, as if in his madness he 
fancied that his look could quell her. 

But she would not meet his eyes. She kept hers fixed 
on the table, while she resumed her speech : 

“You are all surprised and incredulous ; but I will 
explain and convince you. At the time Mr. Brandon 
Coyle asked my hand of my grandfather, the late earl, 
he was not free to contract marriage. Neither my 
grandfather nor myself knew this fact at the time. My 
grandfather died in ignorance of it. I have only known 
it for a very few days.” 

“ It is false ! ! It is false as ! ! ! Some enemy 

has abused this lady’s ear with a base slander !” burst 
forth Brandon Coyle in a fury, as he struck his clenched 
hand down upon the table. 

“This is very painful ! Very painful indeed ! This 
is a serious charge to bring against your affianced hus- 
band, the man once accepted by yourself, and approved 
by your grandfather, my dear,” said Lord Beaudevere, 
in a tone of remonstrance. 

“I do not pretend to know what she means by it !” 
exclaimed Coyle, in a voice full of affected sorrow. 

“What reason have you for your words, my daugh- 
ter ?” inquired the priest. 


A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


9 


“If there be any grounds for this charge, Lady 
Arielle,” said the lawyer, in slow and measured syllables, 
“your friends would like to hear them.” 

“ He was married on the ninth of last September to 
a young women named Christelle Ken, of the village of 
Miston — ” 

“It is as false as ! ! !” exclaimed Coyle, losing all 

self-control, and falling into bad language. 

“ Brandon ! Brandon I recollect yourself, my dear boy ! 
Arielle, my child, this is a very extraordinary charge !” 
said the baron, who was beginning to be very much dis- 
tressed and perplexed. 

“ I can prove the charge. Lord Beaudevere. This let- 
ter was written to me by his wife. I received it on the 
day that my dear grandfather was attacked with his last 
and fatal sickness. Inclosed you will find the marriage 
certificate. Will you pass both to Mr. Brandon Coyle 
and let him examine them, and decide whether he will 
leave me now in peace, or whether he will compel me 
to a further exposure of his evil deeds ?” 

Lord Beaudevere took the letter and handed it to 
Coyle, who received it with a scowl. 

“ A forgery ! A falsehood ! An impudent imposi- 
tion !” he exclaimed, as soon as he had glanced at the 
contents ; and he tore it fiercely into pieces and threw 
it upon the floor. 

Lord Beaudevere then handed him the marriage 
“ lines” of poor Kit. 

“ Why do you insult me with this thing ? A farce !” 
he exclaimed, as he seized and tore the second paper. 

“ Gentlemen,” he continued, more calmly, “ these are 
miserable tricks of some enemy bent on injuring me and 
annoying my promised bride. And but that they have 
disturbed Lady Arielle, they would be beneath con- 
tempt. Surely you need not regard such base trifles ?” 


10 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


“ Where did you get these papers, my dear ?” inquired 
Lord Beaudevere. 

“ One moment, my lord. I wish to ask that person if 
he really pretends to hold me to any engagement.” 

“ Most certainly I do,” distinctly answered Coyle. 

“ And to deny the authenticity of these documents 

“ Assuredly I do !” 

“ Then you compel me to prove their authenticity by 
exposing you more fully,” said Lady Arielle ; and turn- 
ing her head to where Net stood vailed, she asked ; 

“ Mrs. Fleming, will you come here to my sup- 
port ?” 

Net left her seat, walked around the table and stood 
at the back of Arielle’s chair, with one hand on the 
girl’s shoulder. 

“ Question Mrs. Fleming, my lord. I do not think 
she will like to tell the story except in answer to ques- 
tions,” said Arielle. 

At the sight of Net, Brandon Coyle had staggered 
back and dropped upon a seat, with every vestige of 
color drained from his dark face. 

“ My dear, do you really know anything certain about 
this strange story that has been brought to Lady Ari- 
elle } Is there a shadow of truth in it ?” inquired Lord 
Beaudevere, still incredulous and bewildered. 

“ Mrs. Fleming is my bitter enemy. Her testimony 
should not be taken against me !” exclaimed Brandon 
Coyle, madly. 

“1 am no man’s enemy, and so little yours that I am 
pained that justice obliges me to speak of you as I must 
do,” said Net, gently. 

Then turning to Lord Beaudevere she answered him, 
saying : 

“ I know this much — that Mr. Brandon Coyle is either 
legally married to Christelle Ken, the daughter of James 


A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


11 


Ken, the fisherman, of Miston, or else he has deceived 
her by a false marriage. Yes, Lord Beaudevere, this is 
absolutely true. I could tell you much more to the 
point if necessary, but the subject is a painful one. 
Besides, I do not think Mr. Brandon Coyle will deny 
the facts to me^ to whom he promised ten days ago that 
in one week from that date he would do justice to the 
girl by acknowledging her as his wife.” 

While Net spoke, Brandon Coyle sat shaking with 
rage and fear as with an ague. His castles in the air 
were tumbling all around him, and threatening even to 
crush him under their ruins. 

Where is this girl, my dear ?” mildly inquired the 
distressed baron. 

“ Ay ! where is she fiercely demanded Brandon Coyle. 
“ Produce her ! If she is my wife, let her come for- 
ward and face me with the claim ! Where is she ?'* 

“Where is she, my dear Mrs. Fleming inquired the 
baron. 

“ Mr. Brandon Coyle is most probably the only per- 
son here who can answer that question ; for, on the 
very night before the day upon which he had promised 
to acknowledge her, she disappeared from my house, 
and has not been heard of since. Her parents are in 
the deepest distress at her strange absence. Mr. Bran- 
don Coyle probably knows her whereabouts,” gravely 
answered Net. 

“ I know nothing about the infernal girl !” frantically 
exclaimed Coyle. “ It is a base conspiracy to ruin me !” 

Here old - Mr. Coyle arose to his feet and advanced 
until he stood face to face with his nephew, when — 
wiping his round, close-cropped, silver-gray head until 
it shone like a metallic ball, as was his custom when 
heated or excited — he burst forth with a torrent of 
indignation ; 


12 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


“ Conspiracy or not conspiracy, sir, I charge yon to 
disprove these accusations before you ever dare to set 
foot in my house again ! If they are true, sir — if they 
are true, by — ” (here the old squire sealed his earnest- 
ness with an oath not to be recorded) — “ I will bequeath 
Caveland and all my money to found an asylum for 
unconvicted thieves and ctd-throatshQiovQ I will leave you 
one shilling !” 

“ You are all against me !” fiercely exclaimed Coyle, 
with the aspect of a hyena at bay. 

“ You evil son of an evil father, acquit yourself of 
this charge, or never look me in the face again !” ex- 
claimed Old Coyle, turning away, and trotting back to 
his seat. 

Net, feeling somehow as if she were a witness 
subpoenaed on a trial in a court of justice, said : 

“Nothing, indeed, but the strongest conviction of 
duty would cause me to make the disclosures I am 
about to do. Mr. Brandon Coyle has said that he 
would not know Kit Ken if she were now to enter this 
room. Yet, I myself have seen Mr. Brandon Coyle in 
the company of Kit Ken, under circumstances that con- 
vinced me that he was her lover. 

“ It was on the night of November the twenty-first, 
long after midnight and near morning, when I was 
awakened out of sleep by the noise of something falling. 
Thinking nothing worse had happened than that our 
cat had knocked some of the crockery down off the 
dresser, I arose, lighted a candle, and went into the 
kitchen, where I found Mr. Brandon Coyle.” 

The old squire groaned aloud and suppressed an 
oath. 

“ Bah !” exclaimed Coyle, defiantly. “ I explained to 
Mrs. Fleming, at the time, how it was ! I had arrived 
from London by the midnight train ; taking the short 


A REJECtEb BRIDEGROOM. 


13 


cut from Miston to Caveland, had come down the 
church lane, passing Bird’s Nest Cottage, saw that 
the careless inmates — women and children, don’t you 
know — had left the door open all night, went in through 
the darkness to the kitchen to call the negligent ser- 
vant to remedy the mistake, and — fell over the coal- 
scuttle ! The noise aroused the lady of the house, who 
came forth, and finding me standing in the middle of 
the kitchen caressing my aggrieved shin, immediately 
accused me of — the fiend knows what ! Coming after 
the silver spoons, I think, was the first form of the 
indictment ! Of course, as I said before, I explained 
the good intention that had brought me to the house ; 
but she would not believe me ! She does not believe me 
now even though she must have found her silver plate 
all right,” he added, in a tone of assumed jollity and 
recklessness. 

No one, however, paid any serious attention to his 
words ; but Dr. Bennet requested Mrs. Fleming to 
proceed. 

Net resumed her account of the night’s alarm : 

“On my demanding of the intruder the meaning of 
his presence in my house at such an unseemly hour, he 
did, indeed, attempt such an explanation as he has 
offered here ; but I knew his excuse to be false on the 
very face of it, and told him so. I suspected, also, his 
real errand, and told him that ; I then demanded that 
he should give me his solemn promise never to 
approach my premises again, and never to see or speak 
to Kit Ken again, unless it was to make her his wife.” 

“And what did, the vagabond say to that?” de- 
manded the old squire. 

“ He asked me what would be the consequence of his 
refusal to comply with such absurd demands. I told 
him that I should go the next day and lay the whole case 


14 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


before Mr. Coyle, of Caveland, and claim from him, 
both as the uncle of the delinquent and as Justice of the 
Peace for the neighborhood, protection for myself and 
household against the aggressions of Mr. Brandon 
Coyle.” 

“ And you should have had it, my dear ! You should 
have had it ! I "would have committed the scamp to 
the county jail if he had been twenty nephews rolled 
into one ! Why didn’t you come and complain to me, 
my dear ? Why didn’t you 

“ Because,” said Net, “ the man promised all that I 
demanded. He promised to acknowledge Kit his law- 
ful wife within a week from that day, and under that 
promise he was permitted to leave my house in peace.” 

“ And he did marry her ?” 

He had married her long before that, or he had 
pretended to do so. The poor girl, who had some pride 
in her good name, and could not endure to lie under 
suspicion, confessed to me that morning her secret 
marriage to Mr. Brandon Coyle on the night of Septem- 
ber ninth, the night of the day of my dear step-father’s 
funeral. I remember missing her that night and re- 
ceiving a lame excuse for her unusual absence. She 
showed me a paper that she called her ‘ wedding lines ’ 
— a sort of irregular certificate of marriage — the same 
paper that Mr. Brandon Coyle has destroyed. She also 
gave me many details that would have convinced any 
candid mind of her truth. She evidently, confidently 
believed herself to be the lawful wife of Mr. Brandon 
Coyle.” 

“ She believed nothing of the sort ! She iniposed on 
you, madame, by a tissue of artful falsehoods which 
your own imagination has unfortunately for truth, 
very much embellished !” rudely exclaimed Brandon 
Coyle. 


A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


15 


Hold your tongue, sir !” vociferated the old squire, 
beside himself with rage and shame. “ Can you not 
see that your cause is gone ? Can you not see that not 
a man nor woman present believes one word you have 
to say ? Why do you not leave the room and the house ? 
How long do you intend to stand there heaping dis- 
grace upon yourself and all connected with you ? 
Leave ! Begone ! For decency’s sake, go hang your- 
self !” 

“ Indeed, I think you had better withdraw, Mr. Bran- 
don,” said Lord Beaudevere, in a low tone. 

“You are all against me ! Every one of you ! You 
are all my enemies ! I am basely slandered ! Foully 
maligned ! And you believe and indorse my slanderers 
and maligners, or you pretend to do so, because you 
are all my bitter enemies ! I have not a friend in this 
house to do me justice !” fiercely exclaimed the des- 
perate villain, and like a wild beast driven to frenzy, he 
turned to rush from the room. 

In an instant Aspirita Coyle, who had been a silent 
but angry spectator of the scene arose and darted to 
her brother’s side, exclaiming : 

“ Yes, Brandon ! / am your friend ! Your sister ! 

If our friends here abandon you, they must abandon 
me too ! If our uncle discards you, he shall lose me 
also ! I will never re-enter the doors that refuse to re- 
ceive you ! I will go with you, my brother, and share 
your fate !” 

She had poured forth all these words with impet- 
uous passion, and now she caught his arm and 
turned around, facing the company with eyes blazing 
defiance. 

“Drop that man’s arm instantly. Miss Coyle!” 
thundered the old squire. 

“ I won’t ! He is my dear brother !” 


16 


BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 


“ Go, my dear girl. Would you cling to a fallen pil- 
lar ?” whispered Brandon, who seemed deeply touched 
by her fidelity at this time. 

“ Yes, I would. Since it is my brother ! • The only 
one I really love on earth !” replied the girl. 

“ Obey me. Miss Coyle ! Return to your seat this 
moment !” roared the old squire. 

“ I — will — not replied Aspirita, slowly and emphat- 
ically. 

“ Go, go, my sister !" urged the young man. 

“ I’ll see him — bur7it first ! There !” said Aspirita. 

“ Come here this instant, Miss Coyle ! You are my 
niece ! — my ward ! You must submit to me !” cried 
the old squire, leaving his seat. 

“ I tell you I won’t ! What is the use of your roar- 
ing ?” retorted the girl. “ Come, Brandon ! Why are 
we lingering here ? Le\ us leave the room !” she added, 
turning to her brother. 

“Aspirita! You would but embarrass me by your 
presence. Dear child, I feel your devotion ! It is a 
great comfort to me to find one heart faithful to mine 
in adversity ! And when I have a home I will send for 
you to share it ; but until that time you would but em- 
barrass me ! Go, dear ! Go,” whispered the young 
man, in eager, hurried tones. 

But still she clung to him, while old Coyle chafed 
and sputtered, and began to look dangerous. 

“ Aspirita,” hastily whispered Brandon, “ for the next 
few days I shall have no fixed home. I go to hunt up 
evidence to vindicate my honor. And I go — to avenge 
myself upon my enemies !" he added, in a hissing tone, as 
his white teeth gleamed like a tiger’s under his bushy 
black mustache. 

“ I will not be disgraced by both of you at the same 
time. If you do not obey me, and leave that villain’s 


A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


17 


side instantly, Miss Coyle, I will find means to compel 
you to do so !” thundered the exasperated old squire, 
trotting towards the brother and sister, with his round 
face in a flame, and short, fat arm raised threateningly. 

“Go ! go ! Pray go !” hastily whispered Brandon. 

‘ Once more ! For the last time ! Will you obey 
me ?” vociferated the old man, standing before them 
with doubled fist. 

“ I will obey my brother. He tells me to go with you, 
and I will go. And when he shall tell me to leave you 
and return to him — I will do so. / am of age — a fact 
which you seem to have forgotten — and I am at liberty 
to do as I please. Good-bye, my dear brother ! I hope 
soon to see you victorious over all your enemies,” said 
Aspirita. 

Brandon Coyle folded her in his arms for a moment, 
then released her, and with a profound, mocking bow 
to the assembled company, turned and left the room. 

“ Be good enough to see if my carriage waits,” said 
the old man then to Adams, the footman, who stood 
with the other servants near the door, and who imme- 
diately left to obey the order. 

Lady Arielle, now suffering from the reaction of 
excitement, pale and trembling, yet self-possessed and 
courteous, heard this order given and immediately 
walked down to the side of old Mr. Coyle and said : 

“Will you not gratify 5mur friends by remaining to 
dinner ? It will be served in a few minutes.” 

“ I couldn’t eat a morsel if it was to save my life ! 
Could you ?” roughly replied the old man. 

“We have already dined — ‘full of horrors’ — Lady 
Altofaire,” said Aspirita Coyle, with freezing polite- 
ness. 

“ No one can regret and deplore the pain I have been 


18 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


compelled to give more than I do myself,” said Lady 
Arielle, with feeling. 

“ You could not help it, my lady ! You could not 
help it ! You must not regret or deplore anything that 
has happened ! You should thank Heaven to be rid of 
the scamp on any terms !” exclaimed old Mr. Coyle. 

“ I think it is mean and cruel for a man’s own rela- 
tion to turn against him !” exclaimed Aspirita. 

“ I disclaim him as a relation. He is not a Coyle at 
all ! He is the son of his father,” said the old squire, 
bitterly. “ They have both caused me grief and shame 
enough in my time ! And you, Aspirita, had best keep 
silence on this subject ! I advise you I” 

The girl, hanging on his arm, turned as pale as her 
dark skin would permit, and became mute. 

“Mr. Coyle’s carriage waits,” said the footman, open- 
ing the door. 

“ Ah ! All right ! Good afternoon. Lady Altofaire,” 
said the old squire, with a bow, as he turned and led 
off his niece, who merely nodded to the young countess 
in leaving. 

When the Coyles had gone, Lord Beaudevere rapped 
on the table, as if to call the little company to order, 
and then said : 

“ It is the desire of the Countess of Altofaire that 
the subjects just discussed in this room be not talked 
of to any one beyond these walls. Of the reticence of 
her friends she feels the fullest confidence. And of the 
people of her household she hopes the same discreet 
silence. The servants may now withdraw.” 

In obedience to this direction, the domestics, who had 
been called together to listen to the reading of the late 
lord’s will, now retired — each one satisfied with, and 
grateful for, the legacy that had been left to him or to 
her, and resolved to be silent upon the subject of the 


A REJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


19 


sensational revelations that had been made that day, 
and had broken off the marriage engagement between 
their young lady and Mr. Brandon Coyle. 

But, oh ! the strong, overwhelming temptation to tell 
such a stunning story ! 

The men really resisted the temptation and kept the 
faith from first to last. 

And the women kept the secret for a few hours ; but 
then the cook, under an extorted promise of profound 
secrecy, told it to the pretty dairymaid, Hannah Horner, 
as a solemn warning to beware of young men who 
were above her in rank, for fear she might be taken in 
by a false marriage and spirited away like poor Kit 
Ken. 

And the dairymaid, with mouth and eyes wide open 
with wonder and dismay, told the whole story to her 
mother, old Dame Horner, at the porter’s, when she 
went home — for should a girl keep a secret from her 
own mother ? 

Dame Horner, who was required to make no promise 
on the subject, button-holed and half paralyzed the 
postman with the story the very first time he came 
through the gate. 

And the postman told the tale all over the country, 
wherever he stopped to deliver or to gather letters. 

Thus, in a few hours, the luckless love story of poor 
Kit Ken had reached even to the ears of her parents 
and brothers ! And the rough men of the family were 
out on the war-path after Brandon Coyle. 

But to return to the great dining-hall where tho late 
earl’s will had been read, and the startling revelations 
had been made. 

Soon after the withdrawal of the servants dinner 
was Announced, and the company, reduced now to 
seven persons, adjourned to the small dining-room, 


20 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


where the table had been laid, and where every one, 
excepting Ariel le, really enjoyed the courses set before 
them. 

Soon after dinner Arielle and Net found themselves 
alone for a few moments, and the former said : 

“ I have been wanting to ask you, all day, whether 
you have heard from Antoinette since I saw you last.” 

“ Yes, I had a letter this morning just before I left 
home. She has gone down to Deloraine Park to spend 
the winter. She thinks the quietness of the country 
and the mild air will do her good. She wants me to 
join her there," replied Net. 

“ But you will not go ?” 

“ Not at present,” said Net. 

An hour later the friends were all assembled in the 
drawing-room, where, after drinking tea, the guests 
were preparing to depart. 

Net Fleming went up to Lady Arielle to bid her 
good-night. 

“ Must you go ? Oh, must you go so soon ?” inquired 
the young countess, in a sorrowful tone. 

“ Yes, dear ; you know I came with Dr. Bennet. He 
was kind enough to drive me here in his gig. He is 
going now ; he has some patients to see this evening, 
and I must go home when he goes.” 

“ But why return at all to-night ? Why can’t you stay 
with me for a few days ? Oh ! I need you so much. Net.” 

“ Dear friend, I would be so willing to do so, but I 
cannot leave the children. There is no one that I dare 
trust them to since poor Kit has gone,” gently replied 
Net. 

“ Bring them here !” quickly exclaimed the lady. 
“ Oh, Net ! close up the cottage, and send home your 
servant, and come and bring the children with you, and 
stay— stay as long as ever you can — stay always, or at 


A KKJECTED BRIDEGROOM. 


n 

least -until Mr. Adrian Fleming returns to take you 
home. Oh ! Net. Say you will.” 

“ But, my dear, shall you remain at the castle ? Shall 
you not go to the house of your guardian, Lord Beaude- 
vere ?” inquired Net, as she drew on her black gloves. 

“ To Cloudland ? Oh, no, no, no ! Why, is expected 
back in a few days — ” 

“Valdimir Desparde !” exclaimed Net, in astonish- 
ment. 

“ Yes. I did not tell you when I was at the Bird’s 
Nest, I could not bear to speak of him. And I cannot 
go to Cloudland, where I may meet him.” 

“ Why — when — how did you hear this ?” questioned 
Net, in wonder. 

“ A letter from him to Lord Beaudevere, announcing 
his return to — to vindicate himself. There ! do not let 
us speak of him !” 

“ But if he can vindicate himself, surely you will be 
glad to see him, dear Arielle ?” said Net. 

“ Hush ! How he do so ? His wife and child have 
passed from this world I Thus he is free to come back. 
This is his vindication ! Bah ! let us drop the subject ! 
I cannot go to Cloudland ; that is certain ! You must 
come, and bring the children and stay with me here. 
Net.” 

“ But children might be troublesome to you, my dear.” 

“ What nonsense ! If they should be, I could put them 
in a pleasant suite of apartments, half a mile away from 
me, in this big house ! But they will not trouble me 
the least ! Little children never do : they always cheer 
and comfort me ! Bring them. Net. When will you 
bring them ? When shall I send old Abraham with the 
old family coach for you ? To-morrow ? Next day ? 
When, Net ?” 

“ It is not very polite to interrupt a conversation be- 


22 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


tween friends but, my dear Mrs. Fleming, unless we set 
out very soon night will overtake us before we get 
through the mountain passes,” said Dr. Bennet, coming 
up. 

“ Good-night, dear Arielle,” murmured Net, stooping 
to kiss the young hostess. 

“ But you have not told me, when I shall send the 
family coach for you and the children ! You shall not 
go until you tell me exclaimed the latter, clasping her 
friend’s hand. 

“ On — on Saturday — Saturday afternoon,” answered 
Net, hurriedly, as she once more kissed her hostess 
good-night, and left her to make other hasty adieux, 
not to keep her escort waiting. 

“ Mind ! be ready to come on Saturday. I shall be 
sure to send the carriage with orders to bring you and 
the children back if it has to wait all day and all night 
too !” said Lady Arielle, following Net to the door. 

“ I will be ready, dear ! Good-night,” said Net, as 
she disappeared. 

The family solicitor also took leave, and departed in 
his hired cab to catch the midnight express for London. 

The old priest pleaded his age and infirmities and 
retired to his den ; Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne re- 
mained in the castle over night. 

And soon after the friends retired to rest. 



CHAPTER IL 

OUR EXILE. 

Oh, unexpected stroke, worse than of death ! 

Must I then leave thee, Paradise ? Thus leave 
Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades. 

Fit haunt of gods ? 

Milton. 

Yes, yes ! from out the herd, like a marked deer, 

They drive the poor distraught ! The storms of heaven 

Beat on him ; gaping hinds stare at his woe ; 

And no one stops to pray Heaven speed his way. 

Baillie. 

We must now take up the story of our exile, Valdi- 
mir Desparde, and briefly relate what had happened to 
him in the interval between that despairful day on 
which, self-banished, he left his native land and that 
hopeful one on which he embarked to return. 

He took passage on the Arizona, that sailed from 
Liverpool on the third of June. 

To avoid the possibility of meeting any acquaintance, 

[23] 


24 : BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 

he took a berth in the second cabin, and secluded him- 
self within his state-room, where, under the plea of ill- 
ness, which his pale and haggard countenance verified, 
and by the payment of an extra stipend to the stew- 
ard, he had his slender meals served him. 

Only at night did he venture forth to take a little 
exercise and breathe a little fresh air by pacing up and 
down the then forsaken and almost solitary deck. 

Often, at such hours, with the lonely, starlit sky above, 
and the lonely, restless sea beneath, the temptation to 
suicide strongly beset him. 

To take one plunge ! To leave this world of anguish 
and despair and enter the other world of — what ? 

He had no fears of that other world — none whatever. 
So it was no craven terror that withheld him from 
“rushing unbidden “ into the life beyond this. But he 
had the loyalty of a faithful soldier at his post — the 
loyalty that would stay and suffer until his Lord should 
see fit to relieve him. 

It is in hours like these of fierce suffering and fiercer 
temptation that the power of a religious training is 
manifested. 

And he suffered a living death in the keenly con- 
scious loss of all he loved and valued on this earth — 
reputation, home, country, friends and bride I What 
words can portray his desolation ? His very great 
strength to live and endure did but intensify and pro- 
long his agony. 

And still Valdimir Desparde secluded himself in his 
state room during the day, and walked the deck during 
the night. And still the woful days and sleepless nights 
went on, and finally brought the ship into port in the 
gray of the morning on the fifteenth of the month. 

“ She. ’s landed, sir, and the passengers are all getting 
up and preparing to go on shore,” said the voice of the 


OUR EXILFJ. 


^5 


Steward, as he officiously rapped at the door of Des- 
parde’s state-room. 

Valdimir Desparde arose, dressed himself, packed 
his valise, and came out on deck. 

It was scarcely light, yet many of the passengers 
were already up and dressed, and crowding to the side 
of the ship where the gang-plank had been laid. 

“ So this is the new world ! Not so very unlike the 
old world ! And both at this hour and on this scene 
not unlike one of the visions in Dante’s Inferno,” said 
Desparde to himself as he gazed. 

Certainly he had not seen the new world for the first 
time under the best auspices. 

He crossed the gang-plank and stood on the crowded 
and noisy pier, where stevedores were already engaged 
in unloading the ship and piling up the freight. 

A human being more lonely, more desolate, more 
miserable and despairing than our exile could scarcely 
be found on this sin and sorrow-laden earth. He had 
no farther interest in this world — no single object to 
live for. He scarcely knew where next he should bend 
his steps. It would have been well for him then if he 
had been compelled to labor for his next meal ; if the 
pangs of absolute hunger with impending famine could 
have driven him to occupation. But he had a thousand 
pounds sterling in his valise, so that wholesome neces- 
sity to work was not upon him. 

There were but two possibilities he anticipated with 
any sort of interest— the first was the receipt of that 
promised letter from Brandon Coyle — honest, honest 
lago !” — which should give him the latest news of his 
beloved, his forsaken, his forever-forfeited bride ! but 
he did not know or even ask himself whether he looked 
forward to this with more of desire or — despair ! The 
other one was his visit to New Orleans and investiga- 


26 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


tion of the old domestic tragedy whose discovery had 
ruined his life — an investigation from which he shrank 
with feelings of the most intense horror and repug- 
nance, yet towards which he was forced by some occult, 
irresistible impulse. 

He determined to wait in New York city until he 
should have received and answered that letter, and then 
to set out for that southern city on his weird errand to 
“ open the ghastly charnel-house " of that dread trag- 
edy for what further discoveries it might reveal. 

But at the present moment he scarcely knew whither 
to direct his steps. He thought he would hide himself 
for a few days, until the arrival of his letter, in some 
obscure but decent public house, where no Englishmen 
of his rank or acquaintance would be likely to meet him. 

But where to find a public house which was at once 
obscure and respectable, was a difficult question. 

While he was turning over the subject in his mind, 
his ears were saluted by a voice of wailing — a voice of 
lamentation and great mourning, in the dear, familiar 
accents of the “ North Countrie.” 

“ Ou, ou, wae ’s me !” it cried ; “ wae ’s me, my bonny 
bairn, what sal we do, wi’ naebody here to mit us ! 
Wae 's me ! wae 's me !” 

Desparde turned and saw a young woman in the 
Shetland peasant’s dress, short full plaid skirt, black 
bodice and white cap, standing amidst her bundles on 
the pier and holding a baby in her arms. On closer 
view she was a very handsome woman of the Juno type 
of beauty, tall, finely proportioned, full-formed, with a 
well-shaped head, gracefully set upon a stately neck, 
regular, noble features ; fair, blooming complexion, with 
large, clear blue eyes and wavy yellow hair. 

Desparde’s casual glance became a fixed look, as he 
exclaimed, in amazement : 


OUR EXILE. 


27 


“ Why, Annek ! Annek Yok ! This is never you, lass !” 

The young woman raised her head and stared at him 
with her wide-open, great blue orbs for a full minute 
before she answered : 

“ Indeed and it is, then, laird, just mysel’ and nae 
ither ! But is it yoursel’, then, laird, that I see before 
my een ? And is it your bridle tower, and w/iere is my 
bonny Leddy Arielle ?'* 

As the young woman put this question she sat down 
on her largest bundle to recover her breath. 

Desparde, still amazed at the presence of this girl, 
whom he had known from her childhood as the daughter 
of a fisherman at Skol, and a special favorite with Lady 
Arielle Montjoie, did not answer her question, but put 
another : 

“Why, how came you here, of all places in the 
world, Annek ? Who is with you ? Where are you 
going ? What are you waiting here on the pier for ?’’ 

“Ou, sure I cam i’ the ship there, by, and there’s 
naebody wi’ me, barring the bairnie, and I’m waiting 
for my guid mon ; but he does na come ! But where s 
my leddy T' inquired the girl, returning to the previous 
question. 

“ Then you are married, Annek ?“ said Desparde, 
evading the necessity of giving her a direct reply. 

“ Marrit, is it } Ou, ay, laird ! Dinna ye see for 
yoursel’ I am marrit ? — Bless the bairnie — “ exclaimed 
the young mother, suddenly breaking off in her dis- 
course, and stooping to kiss her child. “ Ay, laird. I’m 
marrit ; and sure I’m thinking ye ’ll be marrit yoursel’ 
and on your bridle tower, and where is the bonnie bride V 
persisted the young woman. 

“ Who did you marry, Annek ?’’ 

“ E’en just a guid mon and true ! Ye mind Eric 
Lan, wha warked under the gardener at the castle ?’’ 


28 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


“ Yes, I remember him — a fine young fellow.” 

“ Weel, it is just him I marrit, eighteen months ago, 
come the first o' next month, laird. But where’s my 
bonny leddy a’ this time ?” 

“ Where is your husband, Annek ?” 

“ Eh, thin in N’yark somewhere. I writ him to mit 
me here, and I’m waiting for him noo. Eh ! laird, but 
I was frighted to stand here my lane in a strange coun- 
try, and naebody to mit me ! But when I saw ye, laird, 

I kenned weel that ye 'd no let ony ill come till me ! 
Noo, then, where's the bonny bride ^ laird f 
“ Did you come over in the Arizona T' 

“ Ay, sure, laird ! That ship lying there, by ! I cam 
i’ the steerage, laird ! Eh ! but the saysickness tnk me • 
aff my feet the first wick ! And ’deed, liard, ye dinna 
hike that weel yoursel’ ! Ye will ha’ been saysick your- 
sel' And aiblins the bonny leddy is saysick hersel 
that I dinna see her ! Where is my leddy T' 

“ Annek, I think you had better not sit here. The 
pier is very damp and the air is very unwholesome. It 
is not good for you or your child that you should stay 
here any longer,” said Desparde. 

“ Where will I gae, then laird ? Sure I’m waiting for 
my gild mon to come and mit me, and frighted anoo I 
was to be standin’ my lane here in a strange country till 
I saw you, laird ! And then I kenned I was safe, ony 
gait ! And ye’ll be on your bridle tower, laird, and 
where is the bonny bride ?” 

“ Annek, my lass, since you must wait here I will not 
leave you until your ‘ guid mon ’ comes,” said Desparde, 
taking his seat on a deal box at her side. “ So now you 
may employ the time in telling me about your marriage 
and your emigration to this country.’’ 

“ Ay, that I will, laird ! Eric and me were troth- 
plighted lang sine, but we didna think to get marrit sae 


OUR EXILE. 


29 


sune, but ye maun ken, laird, that my puir auld feyther 
got drooned in a squall, when he was awa in the boat — ” 

“ Your father was drowned ! I am very sorry to hear 
it, my poor Annek.” 

“ Ou, ay ! It waur the fishermen’s risk and the fisher- 
men’s fate, laird, but the auld mither was puirly, laird, 
and she took it sae sare to hairt that wi’ the cough and 
wi’ the sorrow she pined awa’ and dee’d, and I was left 
my lane.” 

“ My poor, dear lass !” exclaimed Desparde, for the 
moment forgetting his own sorrows in those of the girl. 

“ Ou, ay, it was waefu’ ! And ye ken, laird, the Word 
says it is na guid for mon to be alane, and sure nae 
mair is it guid for a puir lass to live alane in her sheel- 
ing when the feyther and the mither hae gane till their 
Heavenly hame.” 

“ I am sure it could not have been,” assented Des- 
parde. 

“ Sae ye ken, laird. Eric cam’ and took me before 
the priest, and we were marrit and cum hame to live 
i’ the auld sheeling thegither, and we gaed on weel 
enoo for the first year, laird ; but then the bairn cam 
and took a’ Eric’s 'savings, and the wark give oot i’ 
the gairden, and as ye ken, laird, there ’s nae muckle 
chance o’ making a living at Skol, ance fortune taks 
a turn agen ane.” 

“ I know,” said Desparde, sympathetically. 

Eh, but we struggled haird to live before we 
pairted ; but at lang'last my puir lad said he had bet- 
ter gang while he could ; so he left the lave of his bit 
money wi’ me and got a cast in a fisher’s boat ower 
to Dunross, and then he trampped doon to Gla.sgow 
and shipped as a seaman for the voyage to N’yark.” 

” Ay ?” said Desparde, seeing that she had paused 
for breath. 


30 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ Ay, laird, and it was months before I heard of him. 
Then cam a letter wi’ guid news. He had got wark 
on the public roads at a dollar and seventy- five cents 
a day, wilk be seven shillings of our money, and 
as muckle as he could mak in a week at hame — and 
he said as sune as he could save eneugh for my pas- 
sage out wi’ the bairn he would send me the money in 
a bill o’ changes — whilk he did, laird, about four wicks 
sin’, and ye may weel believe I didna let the grass 
grow under my feet till I got the eight go’den 
guineas for that bill o’ changes. Eh, the beauties ! 
I hardly thought the airl at the castle himsel’ had sae 
muckle money as that luked like. Eh, but it cost wan 
o’ the beauties to tak me to Liverpool, and sax to buy 
my ticket in yon pig-sty of a steerage, and noo I hae 
got but wan beauty left.” 

“ Did your husband know that you would come by 
the Arizona ?" 

“Ou, ay ! The preest writ til him, for me, to mit me 
at the landing whin the ship got in, and it ’s him I ’m 
waiting for noo.” 

“ But, my good girl, the ocean ‘steamers, which are 
so regular on their day of sailing, are by no means cer- 
tain in their days of arrival. Your good man may not 
know that the Arizona is in. A man cannot live on the 
pier waiting for a ship, you know. And you are stay- 
ing too long here for your good. Don’t you know where 
in this great city your husband lodges ? If you do, I 
could take you to his place,” said Desparde, kindly. 

“ Eh, laird ! would ye tak sae muckle trouble ? ’Deed 
I was i’ the right nae to be freighted 1 anger when I 
seed ye, laird !” exclaimed Annek, with grateful glee. 

“ Then let me have Eric’s address,” said Valdimir. 

“ Is it where he lodges ?” 

“Yes, where he lodges.” 


OUR EXILE. 


31 


“ It will be on the bit letter. Here ! I hae keepit it 
neist my hairt a’ this time,” said the young woman, 
drawing out a large, clumsy document from the bosom 
of her dress and handing it to Desparde. 

He unfolded the letter and turned at once to the 
front page. 

“ One hundred and — something Mercer street. I 
cannot make out the two last figures, but no doubt we 
can find the house,” said the young gentleman. 

” Where will Mercy street be, then, laird ?” inquired 
Annek. 

“ I do not know. I will call a cab and put you into 
it, and direct the driver to take us there. We can 
store your traps until you can send for them.” 

“ Vera weel, laird,” said the young woman, with a 
grateful courtesy. 

Desparde beckoned a porter with a handcart, and 
engaged him to carry Annek 's goods and chattels to a 
warehouse and store them, and then to send a cab. 

Fifteen minutes later Desparde placed Annek and 
her child in a hack and took his seat by her side, after 
directing the driver to go to Mercer street. 

As the hack rolled off it was watched by two wharf 
loafers, who were leaning up against a pile of boxes 
and smoking short pipes. 

“ If that young gent isn’t Valdimir Desparde, then 
he ’s his double, that ’s all,” said one. 

“Who ? He that has gone off in the hack with that 
handsome young Irishwoman he's been talking to.^” 
inquired the other. 

“ Yes ; but she 's not Irish — she 's Scotch. Didn’t you 
hear her talk ?” 

“ Not I. I was looking at her, not listening to her. 
By Jove ! what a handsome creature she is ! Is she 
his wife, do you think ?” 


32 


BRANDON Coyle's wife. 


“ If she is, it is a runaway match, and that is why 
they have come out here.” 

“ You knew them in the old country, then !” 

“I knew him! I should rather think I did! My 
father is bailiff of the Honey thorn estate in his neigh- 
borhood.” 

“ Is he a gentleman, then ?” 

“ Rather ! he is the heir of a title and estate.” 

“ And you think he has ran away with and married 
— that girl 2 Whew! !” 


CHAPTER III. 

A SHOCK. 

Heart-rending news and dreadful to those few 
Who her resemble and her steps pursue ; 

That death should license have to rage among 
The good, the strong, the loving, and the young. 

Waller. 

Faith builds abridge across the gulf of death, 

To break the shock blind nature cannot shun, 

And lands thought smoothly on the other shore. 

Young. 

While this conversation was going on between the 
two loiterers on the pier, the unconscious objects of 
their comments were driving rapidly towards Mercer 
street. 

Arrived at that unsavory thoroughfare, the horses 
slackened speed, while the driver began to scan the 
figures over each door. 

They drove very slowly, and by dint of questioning 


A SHOCK. 


33 


policemen and comparing notes over the hieroglyphic 
figures in the address at the head of poor Eric’s letter, 
they were at length directed to a large, three-storied 
brick building in a rather dilapidated condition, 
occupied as a boarding-house and patronized principally 
by Scotch laborers. 

Here the carriage drew up and Desparde offered to 
get out and make inquiries. 

“ Na, na, laird, let me gae too ! D ’ye think I can 
stay behint a minute and my ain guid mon i’ the hoose ? 
Na, na, I ’ll gae wi’ you !” exclaimed Annek, hurrying 
from the carriage and joining Desparde as he walked 
up the ricketty front steps between the half dozen 
ragged boys and girls that roosted thereon. 

“ Does Eric Lan live here }” inquired Desparde of 
the oldest child, a bright-looking girl of about twelve 
years of age. 

“ Eric Lan ?” echoed the girl, with sudden gravity 
clouding over her sunny face. 

“Yes ! Eric Lan ! Does he live here ?” 

“ Na, he ’s deed !” said the girl, solemnly. 

“ He ’s deed !” echoed the other chi-ldren, gathering 
around the inquirer. 

“What — what do they say ?” faltered Annek, clutch- 
ing the coat of Desparde with one hand while she 
clasped her child with the other. 

“ Heaven help us, I don’t know what they say.” 

“ He ’s deed ! he ’s deed ! and they put him i’ the 
Potter’s Field,” repeated the children, with addition. 

“ Ou, laird ! laird ’ It is na true ! It was na him ! 
It was another mon ! He could na dee, ye ken. he was 
sae tall and strong ! He could na dee and me coming 
out till him !” gasped poor Annek, clinging to her 
child with one arm and to the coat of her only friend 
with the other. 


34 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ My poor girl ! Here comes the landlady, I think 
She will tell us,” said Desparde, kindly. 

“ Wha are ye speering for ?” inquired a stout and 
florid dame of about fifty years, as she came up to the 
door, wiping her large, red hands on a dingy white 
apron. 

“ Eric Lan. Can you tell us — ” began Desparde, but 
the landlady cut him short with an exclamation. 

“ Eric Lan ! Gude guide us I Erie Lan is deed ! 
He dee’d, puir mon— Hech, lass ! Dinna drap the 
bairn ! Luik till her, sir !” exclaimed the landlady, 
breaking off from her story and catching the baby from 
the failing hands of the young mother. 

“She was his wife,” said Desparde, as he supported 
her head upon his shoulder, and looked around for some 
chair or sofa upon which to lay her. 

“ Eh ! puir young thing ! I kenned he expectit her. 
It ’s hard. It ’s unco hard. Bring her intil the house, 
sir,” said the landlady, leading the way to a room on 
the same floor, wherein was a bed. 

“ Lay her doon here, sir, and I’ll fetch .something to 
bring her too,” said the woman. 

But poor Annek had not swooned. She had lost 
power, but not consciousness. 

“ Na, na,” she gasped, “ I will na lay doon. Sit me 
here, laird,” she said, as she left his hold and tottered 
and dropped into a dilapidated old easy-chair. 

Desparde stood over it watching her. 

The landlady came in with the baby in her left arm, 
and half a glass of whiskey in her right hand. 

“ Here, tak this, lass. It will pit some life intil ye. 
It 's the rale guid whiskey,” she said, putting the glass 
to Annek’s lips. 

The poor girl took a swallow, that in its turn took 
her breath And then she said : 


A SHOCK. 


35 


“Tell me a’. When did my Eric dee?” And then 
she suddenly broke down and burst into a passion of 
tears and sobs, swinging herself back and forth, and 
crying between her gasps and catches : 

“ Ou, my Eric ! my Eric ! Why did ye iver gae and 
leave me ? Ou, why did ye dee and leave me ? Why 
did ye no tak me wi’ ye ? Ou, ni)^ Eric ! my ain lad ! 
Wad I hae deed wi’ ye, m'y Eric !“ 

And so she continued, rocking her body to and fro, 
sobbing, weeping, crying and exclaiming after the 
noisy manner of her kind. 

Meanwhile the poor baby began to wail and fret, and 
the kindly Scotchwoman walked it up and down the 
floor to quiet it, and finally carried it out of the room 
to feed it and put it to sleep. 

Valdimir Desparde could not find it in his heart to 
leave the poor afflicted young creature before him. He 
had known her from the time she was a little,' toddling, 
bare footed bairn in her father’s cot at Skol. He had 
seen her nearly every summer while spending the 
heated term with the Earl and Countess of Altofaire 
and Lady Arielle Montjoie at Skol. He had seen her 
grow from childhood to womanhood under the eyes of 
her venerable lord and lady. He had known her ill-fated 
young husband almost as long and as well as he had 
known herself. Now he deeply sympathized with her, 
and he resolved to do all that in him lay to soothe her 
sorrow and relieve her wants. 

He watched her violent paroxysm of grief in silent 
sympathy for awhile, hoping that it would in due time 
exhaust itself. But seeing no sign of its abatement he 
could defer his efforts at consolation no longer. 

He drew his chair to her side, took her hand in his, 
and whispered : 

“ I wish you to look upon me as a brother, lass. Do 


36 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


not think yourself a friendless stranger in a strange 
land, for I will be a friend to you, Annek. I will send 
you back to Skol by the next steamer, if you wish to go. 
I will send you in the second cabin, so that you will be 
perfectly safe and comfortable. I will not leave you, 
Annek, until I have provided for your safety and com- 
fort.” 

Excessive grief is often very ungrateful, bitterly re- 
senting all expressions of sympathy, and rudely repuls- 
ing all offers of service. 

“ I dinna want any friends. I want my Eric ! Ou, my 
Eric ! Ou, my ain Eric !” cried the girl, snatching her 
hand from Desparde’s kindly clasp, and bursting into 
more violent sobs and more copious tears. 

“Would you like to go back to Skol by the next 
steamer, Annek ?” gently inquired Desparde. 

“ Na, na, I dinna want to gang onywhere on this 
earth ! 1 want to dee ! I want to dee ! I want too dee 
and gae to my own Eric !” she cried, amid violent gasps 
that seemed to rend her bosom. 

The Scotch landlady now appeared at the door, with 
the sleeping baby in her arms ; but hearing the uproar 
of Annek’s lamentations, and fearing it would awake the 
sleeper, she turned and took it away again to lay on 
some quieter bed. 

And then she returned to the room, and going np to 
the wailing woman began to essay her plain, common- 
place method of consolation. 

“ Coom, coom, noo, lass ! Ye mauna greet sae sair ! 
Ye will be making 3 ^ourser ill ! Hout noo, ye mauna be 
fleein’ i’ the face o’ Providence that gait ! Sure, lass, 
we hae a’ got to dee ane time or anither, and weel it is 
for them that are prepared !” 

I wish I was deed mysel’ ! I wish we were a' deed ! 
I do ! I do !” cried the wild creature, wringing her 


A SHOCK, 


37 


strong young hands as if she would have wrung the 
flesh off their bones. 

“ Hout, woman, we are na ready to dee. I ken well 
enoo that I am na. Eh, but we ’ll a’ gae when our time 
coomes, na fear o’ that ! But stap greeting ! ’Deed and 
ye ’ll mak’ yoursel’ ill.” 

“ Let me alane ! I want to be ill ? I want to dee ! I 
want to gae to my Eric ! Ou, my ain Eric ! Ou, my 
ain Eric !” 

And here she writhed in an accession of convulsive 
agony that terrified the good Scotchwoman, who would 
have again attempted to soothe her had not Desparde 
interfered. 

“ Best not to notice her. This paroxysm must exhaust 
itself sooner or later. Come with me out into the pas- 
sage and tell me how this strong young man came to 
die,” he whispered, as he led the way from the room. 

“You know him, then, sir?” said the Scotchwoman, 
as she stood by his side in the passage. 

“Yes, from childhood I knew them both. They 
were both born and brought up on the estate of a dear 
friend,” replied Desparde. 

“ My Laird Allfair ?” put in the Scotchwoman. 

“ Altofaire. Yes. I suppose poor Eric spoke of his 
feudal lord,” said Desparde, with a sad smile. 

“ Ay, he did, puir lad !” 

“ Now what was his trouble ?” inquired Desparde. 

“ Ou, just the fever, sir ! The tie-foot fever they ca’ 
it here ; though why they do, or what it has to do wi’ 
feet, I dinna ken !” 

“ Was he ill long V* 

“ Aboot ten days in his bed, sir. He was ta’en doon 
twa days after he had sent the money to the puir lass 
tocoom oot till him— though I ’m thinking he had been 
no that weel for some time before. Eh, sir, he told me 


38 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


it would be a month before he could see her ; but he 
counted off the days as they passed until he got so ill as 
to lose his mind, and then, sir, gin you will believe me, 
he thought she was with him, and he talked to her, off 
and on, quiet and loving, till he dee’d. Eh, it waur 
pitiful !" said the woman, putting up her apron to her 
eyes. 

“Poor fellow! Did he leave any money or effects 
that might benefit his widow ?” inquired the young 
gentleman. 

“ Nay, sir ; naught but a few bits o’ claithes. Cer- 
tain he had sent every dollar he could rake and scrape 
to the lass to bring her over, depending on getting 
more every day, for he had constant wark at guid 
wage; but ye ken he waur took doon and dee’d in 
about ten days. We behoved to bury his body i’ the 
Potter’s Field, puir mon ! Has the puir lass ony siller 
o’ her ain, sir, do ye ken ?’’ 

“ I think only a sovereign — about five dollars.” 

“ Eh, puir bodie ! What will she do ?” exclaimed the 
landlady. 

“ I will provide for her and her child until they re- 
turn to their country and friends,” quietly replied Des- 
parde, unconsciously adding to the structure of circum- 
stantial evidence against himself. 

“ Eh, sir, that will be unco generous o’ you.” 

“ Can you accommodate them here until some 
arrangements can be made to send them home ?” then 
inquired Desparde, drawing his portemonnaie from his 
breast pocket. 

“ Ou, ay, sir, sure ! She can hae her puir guid mon’s 
little room, which is vacant noo,” replied the woman. 

“ I find I have only English money here. I had for- 
gotten,” said Desparde. “ But in the course of the day 
I shall change it, and then will pay you in advance.” 


A SHOCK. 


39 


Had we no better ask the lass if she be willing to 
bide wi’ me, sir ?” questioned the woman. 

“ We had better return to her, at any rate, lest she 
should think herself deserted,” replied Desparde, as he 
walked back into the room where Annek now sat, 
quiet with the prostration and stupor of grief. 

“ Annek,” he said, “ are you willing to stay here with 
this kind woman until you get better, and some arrange- 
ments can be made for sending you back to Sko4 ?” 

“ I dinna care whaur I bide, or what becomes o’ me,” 
muttered the girl. 

“ Then you will stay here for the present ?” 

“ I dinna care.” 

“ She will stay, sir,” said the woman. 

“ Then I will go and send her effects. Like many of 
the emigrants who come over in the steerage, she has 
brought a quantity of bundles,” said Desparde. 

And soon after he left the house, entered his hack, 
drove to a broker’s office, changed his English sove- 
reigns for American dollars, and then drove to the 
warehouse where Annek’s little property had been 
stored, paid charges and dispatched it to Mercer street. 

It was now near noon ; Desparde had not breakfasted, 
and, for the first time since he had received that fatal 
revelation which had broken off his marriage and 
ruined his life, Desparde began to feel very hungr\\ 
For the last three weeks he had swallowed a little food 
every day, not because he felt the least inclination to 
eat, but truly from conscientious motives to keep life in 
him and not to be guilty of suicide. 

But this morning he had not thought of his own woes 
for several consecutive hours, during which he had 
been walking and driving about, actively engaged in 
the sympathetic service of others, and now he wanted 


40 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


his breakfast, and he stepped into the first respectable- 
looking restaurant he saw, and got it. 

After this he drove to Mercer street again, to pay the 
board of his protegees in advance, as he promised the 
landlady to do. 

He found Annek still sitting in the room where he 
had left her, quiet and sullen with grief. Now, how- 
ever, she had her baby in her arms and her bundles on 
the floor around her. 

“They hae just come, sir, and I hae na had time to 
put them awa. She canna do aught for hersel’, ye ken, 
sir. She is just dazed like still, and no wonder, puir 
bodie !’’ said the landlady, in explanation. 

Desparde called the woman aside and put two ten- 
dollar bills in her hand on account, and took a receipt 
from which he learned for the first time that the land- 
lady’s name was Jane Donald. 

He returned to the side of Annek and said : 

“Mrs. Donald, your landlady here, will do ever3Thing 
in her power to make you comfortable, my poor girl, 
and I shall not leave New York until I have made 
arrangements for your future.” 

“ An ye could on’y send me and my bairnie after puir 
Eric, it 's the gait I would like to gang,” said Annek. 

“What is your child’s name Annek ?” inquired Des- 
parde, with the kindly thought of occupying her with 
talk about the babe. 

“ What'suld it be but Eric, sir, for the daddie o’ him ?” 

“ Oh ! it is a boy, then ?” 

“Of course it is. Would I be calling a lass Eric? 
What’s come till ye-, laird, to be speering such a ques- 
tion ?” 

“ Dinna be crass, noo. The gentleman’s a guid 
freend till ye, lass,” put in Mrs. Donald. 

“ I dinna want ony freends,” sullenly replied the girl. 


A SHOCK. 


41 


“ Dirina mind her, sir ; she is a bit daft wi’ her 
troubles,” observed the landlady. 

Desparde again committed the unhappy young widow 
to the care of Mrs. Donald, and left the house to find a 
lodging for himself. 

He had lived, so to speak, in his hack all day. His 
valise and other small movables were in there. Now 
the day was drawing to a close, and he determined to 
seek rest. But first he drove to the general post-office, 
in the very slight hope that he might find there a letter 
from Brandon Coyle that might possibly, even though 
sent a day or two later than the day of his own embark- 
ation, have arrived by a faster sailing steamer. He was 
disappointed, however ; there was no letter in the post 
restante for “ Jonathan Adams ” the alias he had left with 
Brandon Coyle. 

Then Desparde drove to a quiet, respectable hotel, in 
a retired street, where he registered his name as Jon- 
athan Adams, and engaged a room. 

Already the reaction was at hand. The spirits of 
anguish and despair, that had been exorcised for a brief 
season by the angel of benevolence, now took possession 
of his soul with a hundred-fold power to torment and 
destroy. 

Under their full influence he retired to his room and 
wrote that dark and desperate letter to Brandon Coyle 
that has been recorded elsewhere. 

He rang for a waiter, and sent the letter to be posted 
and then locked himself in and spent the dreadful night 
in walking up and down the floor, until near morning, 
when he threw himself, exhausted, on the outside of his 
bed and slept until late in the forenoon. 

His first care that day was to go to the post-office, 
where he found a letter from Brandon Coyle waiting 
for him. He could not wait to get back to his hotel 


42 


BKANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


before reading it. He went tip to an unoccupied win- 
dow in the lobby and opened the envelope and read the 
letter with devouring interest. 

Brandon Coyle had described the scenes that had 
followed the flight of Valdimir Desparde, with a mixture 
of most artful truth and falsehood, calculated to 
utterly discourage the exile from ever dreaming of 
return. He had portrayed the condition of Lady 
Arielle Montjoie very plausibly, describing her as 
overwhelmed by his departure, but as having success- 
fully rallied from the shock, until then^ at the date of 
the letter, she seemed quite herself again. 

“In three days! To forget me in three days! It 
is impossible ! She puts it on ! For the sake of 
her aged grandparents, she assumes a gayety she does 
not feel ! I am sure of it ! I know her heart ! Yet, oh, 
my lost love ! ought I not to hope and pray that this 
letter speaks the truth that you have forgotten me ! 
But I am human ! I am human*! And therefore I am 
selfish !’' inwardly moaned the unhappy young man, as 
he thrust the letter in his pocket and left the post-office. 

His own woes did not cause him to forget his poor 
protegees in Mercer street. He turned his steps 
thither and found Mrs. Donald busy setting the dinner- 
table for her boarders. 

Neither Annek nor her child were visible. When 
Desparde inquired for them, Mrs. Donald replied that 
they were lying on the bed up stairs, adding : 

“ The puir lass is vera weak fra sae muckle grieving, 
sir ; and I bid her rest, but I ’ll call her doon and ye 
wish.” 

“ No, no, I would not disturb her. I only wish to 
know from her when she would like to return to her 
own country, so that I may engage her passage back,” 
replied Desparde. 


A SHOCK. 


43 


“ Eh, sir ! she will not hear o’ gaeing- back, I sat wi’ 
her a bit last night, after she had gane to bed, and 
tried to comfort her wi’ telling her how ye would send 
her hame to her people ; but she winna hear of it.” 

“ But why, for Heaven’s sake ?” 

“ Eh, then, sir, she says she hae na people of her ain 
in the auld countrie. They are a’ deed, she says, and 
the neebor-folks there be too poor to help her. She ’ll 
na gae back to starve, she says.” 

“ Then what on earth does she wish to do ?” inquired 
Desparde. 

“ She tells me she hae twa brithers out by yonder in 
New Orleans, an’ she wants to gae to them, if she can 
sell her bedding and ither plenishing for enoo money 
to take her there.” 

“ To New Orleans, did you say ?” inquired Desparde 
in surprise. 

“ On, ay, sir, just to New Orleans, wha she hae twa 
brithers i’ the tobacco trade, weel-to-do, forehanded 
men. I think mysel’ it is the best thing she can do, sir, 
an ye wouldn’t mind sending her there instead of to 
Scotland.” 

“ How very strange. I am going to New Orleans, 
and I will gladly take charge of the poor woman and 
child, and see them safe in their kinsmen’s home. I 
hope she will be able to start in a day or two. Tell 
her this, if you please, Mrs, Donald.” 

“ Ay, that I will, sir, and the message will carry glad- 
ness to the widow’s heart, an’ she ’ll be ready, sir, na 
fear o’ that !” replied the kindly Scotchwoman. 

And Valdimir Desparde left the house to make prep- 
arations to go to New Orleans, incumbered by a young 
woman and child, and thus to add another ton to the 
weight of circumstantial evidence that was eventually 
destined to crush all his hopes. 


CHAPTER IV. ^ 


THE WANDERER. 

What exile from himself can flee! 

The zones, though more and more remote. 

Still, still pursue, where’er 1 be. 

The blight of life, the curse of thought. 

Byron. 

I depart. 

Whither I know not ; but the hour’s gone by 
When lessening or nearing shores could grieve or glad 
mine eye. Byron. 

There was nothing now to detain Valdimir Desparde 
in New York, whence the restlessness of misery urged 
him to move. 

From Mercer street he went back to his hotel, wrote 
a hasty letter to his “ friend,” Brandon Coyle, instruct- 
ing him to address his next communication to Jonathan 
Adams, General Post-Ofifice, New Orleans, posted it and 
then packed his valise for his journey. 

Later in the day he went again to the house of Mrs. 
Donald, and on this second visit he was so fortunate as 
to see Annek, whom the prospect of starting imme- 
diately to her brethren had inspired with new life. 

[44] 


THE WANDERER. 


45 


The youngf woman had somewhat recovered from the 
shock of her bereavement, and she seemed less sullen, 
despairing and ungrateful. 

She expressed herself ready and eager to proceed on 
her journey, at any hour, by land or by water, as the 
kind “ laird ” deemed best. 

“ The steamer Creole leaves at six o’clock this evening 
for New Orleans. We will take passage by her, if you 
like,” said the young gentleman, kindly. 

“ Sure and I would rather, laird, an you please,” she 
said. 

And thus it was arranged. 

A dray was engaged to take Annek’s effects down to 
the boat, where Mr. Desparde agreed to meet her an 
hour before the ship was to sail. 

Meanwhile he went down to the office of the steamer 
and engaged a comfortable berth in the ladies’ cabin for 
the woman and child, and a state room in the saloon for 
himself. 

At the appointed hour he met her on the boat, and 
gave the stewardess an extra fee to take her to her 
berth, and to make her comfortable during the voyage. 

Annek had invested a part of the money advanced to 
Mrs. Donald for her use in buying a decent mourning 
outfit, and had changed her picturesque Skol costume 
of scarlet skirt, black jacket, and gray plaid, for a som- 
bre widow’s suit of black serge gown and sack, and 
black crape bonnet. 

This effected a perfect transformation in the young 
woman’s appearance. 

As soon as he had provided for the comfort of his 
poor protegee, Valdimir Desparde lighted a cigar and 
walked aft, to stand and watch the receding piers of 
the city as the boat steamed off from her pier. 

Annek did not reappear on deck that evening. He 


46 


Brandon coyle s wife. 


saw no more of her until they met at supper in the 
saloon, where it happened that they sat on the same 
side, but at opposite ends of the table. And these 
seats they kept during the whole of the voyage. 

After supper the young woman returned to the 
cabin and Mr. Desparde to the deck without their hav- 
ing exchanged a word together. 

And as the same circumstances happened at every 
meal, it followed, of course, that these compatriots and 
fellow- passengers saw very little of each other until the 
end of the voyage. 

The Creole arrived at New Orleans on the morning of 
the seventh day out. 

Mr. Desparde was early on deck watching for the 
appearance of An nek. 

The young woman came up at last, with her baby on 
one arm and a big basket on the other. 

“ Good morning. An nek. Here we are. Most of our 
fellow-passengers have gone on shore, but 5'ou can get 
breakfast on board if you choose, and I would advise 
you to do so, while I go out and find your people. Tell 
me again their names and their places of business,” 
said the young man, as he joined the girl. 

‘ Ou, you winna leave me my lane on the boat, laird ? 
I suld be sae sair frighted to be left my lane !” she 
objected. 

” Oh, come now, my good Annek, you were not 
frightened to cross the ocean alone, why should you be 
afraid to stay here for an hour while I go and look up 
your friends ?” he remonstrated. 

“ Will you coom back sune, laird ?” 

“ Yes, just as soon as possible. Tell me the names 
of your brothers, and where they live.” 

“ Ou, it 's just Alek Yok and Jans Yok, and they are 
i’ the tobacco trade.” 


THE WANDERER. 


47 


“ Yes,” said the young man, taking note-book and 
pencil from his pocket and writing down these names ; 
“ but now for their places of business.” 

“ Eh ! sure it ’s here — i’ this city — N’ Orleans they 
bide.” 

“ But New Orleans is a great city, my girl. I want 
you to tell me the street they live on.” 

” The street, is it ? Ou, thin, I dinna ken the street. 
Oil, wae ’s me an’ I suldna find my brithers after a’ !” 
exclaimed the young woman, in dismay. 

“ Don’t be frightened. If you do not know their 
address, I have only to look in a city directory to find it 
out. There, go get your breakfast, and then stay down 
in the cabin with the stewardess, and do not leave the 
boat, on any pretext whatever, until I return for you.” 

“ Ay, laird ; but will ye be sure to coom back ?” 
inquired the girl, in some trouble. 

“ Why, of course. Here, you see, Annek, I will leave 
my valise with you as a pledge,” said Desparde, smiling 
at the thought of having to give security for his good 
faith to this peasant woman from the Shetlands. 

“ Eh ! then, I dinna want your bag, laird. It is na 
that. It ’s fearsome I am to lose sight of you,” said 
Annek, feeling a little ashamed of herself for her injur- 
ious doubt. 

Nevertheless Desparde left his valise in her charge, 
as much for his own convenience as for her satisfaction. 

Then he went on shore and walked into the city, and 
stopped at the first drug store he came to for the pur- 
pose of consulting a directory. 

There he found what he sought : 

A. & J. Yok, tobacconists, 7 Leroy Place. 

He turned next to the street directory and found that 


4:8 


BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 


Leroy Place was quite at the other end of the city — a 
good three miles off. 

He thanked the obliging druggist who had let him 
consult the directory, and went out to get a hack. He 
was fortunate in seeing an empty one passing the door. 

He hailed it, jumped in, gave the order to Leroy 
Place and was soon bowling through the principal 
streets of the city, out towards the obscure suburb 
honored by the Messrs. Yok’s enterprise. 

A half hour’s rapid ride brought him to Leroy Place, 
a locality that, like “ Royal Hotels ” and “ Imperial Sa- 
loons,” sadly bewrayed its regal name. It was a short 
and narrow street of small shops and humble tenement- 
houses. 

About half down the street, on the right-hand as the 
hack approached, stood the little two-story red brick 
house occupied by the brothers Yok as a shop and a 
dwelling. The figure of a Highlander usurped the 
place usually occupied by the Indian Chief. 

Here the hack drew up, and Desparde alighted and 
walked into the shop. 

A tall, raw-boned, red bearded lad “ o’ the land o’ 
cakes” stood behind the counter. 

“ What will ye hae, sir inquired this canny Scot, 
seeing that the stranger gave no order. 

“ Is Mr. Alek or Jan Yok in ?” asked Desparde. 

“ I am maister Jan, at your bidding, sir.” 

“ I have brought you news of your sister,” said Des- 
parde. 

Jan Yok was interested in a moment. 

” Sit ye doon, sir, an you please,” he said, handing a 
chair over the counter, of which Desparde immediately 
availed himself. “ Of Ann’k, sir ? The lass was mar- 
ried when we haired frae her last— that will be sune 
after the feyther and mither wint to their rest, Gude 


THE WANDERER. 


49 


keep ’em ! about twa years sin’ ! And boo is Ann’k 
an it please you, sir ?” 

“ She is well ; but I have sad news to tell of her,” 
replied Desparde. 

” Ou, ay, it wnll tak na Solomon to tell what that wull 
be ! It wull be the auld, auld story ! She wull be suf- 
fering frae want ! I kenned it ! I kenned it ! When 
I haird the auld fowks had gane, I wrote for her to coom 
oot till us and we would tak’ care of her ; but she had 
married her lad, and noo they are a’ in want ! I kenned 
it, sir. I kenned it ! But wha be you, sir, an you please, 
wha tak sae muckle interest intil the lass.?” 

“ I am one who was an intimate friend of the Earl of 
Altofaire and a frequent guest at Castle Skol, and knew 
Annek from her childhood,” evasively answered Des- 
parde, who did not choose to give his real name and did 
not wish to give a false one there. 

“ Eh, then, you kenned the auld pleece ?” exclaimed 
the Scot, his healthy red face in its frame of red hair 
and beard lighting up with joy at the sight of one who 
knew ‘‘ the auld pleece.” 

“ Yes, but I must tell you of your sister. Her case is 
not just what you suppose, or rather I fear it is much 
worse. Are we liable to interruption ?” 

“ Na, not sae muckle at this hour. What ’s amiss wi’ 
Annek, sin’ she is weel and nae in want .?" 

“ I will tell you,” said Desparde. And he began, and 
as briefly as possible he told the short, sad story of 
Annek’s marriage, maternity, widowhood, emigration to 
New York, and voyage to New Orleans. 

The brother listened with deep interest and sympathy. 

“ Eh, puir lass ! puir lass ! sae young to be burthened 
wi’ a bairn, and widowed in a foreign land ; though for 
the matter o’ that, it is better for her to be here, sir— 


50 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


muckle better ! But what wad she hae dune an she had 
na found a guid freend in you, sir ?” 

“ I was glad to be of some service to the poor girl,” 
quietly replied the young gentleman. 

“ And she will be on board the Creole waiting for us 
noo, sir ?” 

“ Yes, she is in the care of the stewardess, who seems 
to be a good woman. I have a carriage at the door, and 
will take you or any member of the family you would 
like to send.” 

“ I will go, sir, as soon as my brother Alek cooms to 
tak my pleece,” said Jan, turning to attend a customer 
— an old woman who came for a cent’s worth of snuff. 

“Where is your brother?” at length inquired Valdi- 
mir. 

“ At breakfast, doon in the kitchen, and a long time 
he is taking over it. I’ll just step to the head of the 
stairs and call him,” said Jan, leaving the shop by a 
side door, and shouting : 

“ Alek ! Alek ! Coom here ! Here’s grawnd news 
frae hame !” 

A sound of many rushing footsteps was heard, and a 
crowd, headed by another tall, raw-boned, high-cheeked 
florid-faced and red-bearded Skolman, came rushing 
after Jan into the shop. These were Alek Yok, his 
wife Sona, and his four red-haired lads, of ages rang- 
ing from nine to thirteen. 

“ Wull, what is it, then ?” inquired Alek. 

“ This gentleman brings us news of Annek ; her guid 
mon is gane, and she hae coom acrass the seas till us. 
She will be at the steamboat landing noo, waiting for 
ane of us to go and fetch her !” said Jan putting the 
story of his sister in a nutshell. 

A chorus of exclamations and a crowd of questions 
demanded details, but Jan cut them all short by saying: 


THE WANDERER. 


51 


“ An ye ’ll gae behint the coonter and mind shop, 
Alek, I ’ll get me a cup av coffee and pit an ait cake in 
my pocket, and gae along wi’ this gentleman to fetch 
her." 

And without waiting for an answer he hurried down 
stairs, where he dispatched his morning draught so 
quickly that he returned to the shop in three minutes 
and announced himself ready to go with the gentleman. 

They entered the hack, and were driven rapidly back 
to the steamboat, where they found Annek sitting in 
the midst of her luggage, with her baby in her arms. 

There was not much of a scene. The natives of Skol 
are not so demonstrative as some of their neighbors. 

Jan took her hand and said : 

“ Hoo is it wi’ ye, lass ?’’ 

And kissed her quietly. 

Annek cried a little. 

Then the attention of both was drawn to the baby. 

“ Dinna greet, lass. I ’m no marrit mysel’ and fore- 
handed, wi' naebody depending upo’ me, sae 1 can be a 
feyther to the bairn. Eh ! he ’ll find kinsmen eno’ wi 
us ! Four braw lads as ever ye set een on, Ann’k, forby 
the brither and the guid wife. Eh ! we are unco gled 
to welcome ye, lass." 

With these and other words of affection Jan cheered 
his sister, and soon arranged for the transport of her 
effects to her new home. 

“ We a’ leeve thegither, ye ken lass, but there’s room 
eno’ and to spare for yoursel’ and the bairn. And hoo 
did ye lave the guid fowk at haime, Annek ?’’ 

So chatting, the brother put the sister and her child 
on a spring wagon laden with her luggage and pre- 
pared to start with her for Leroy Place. 

On taking leave of her benefactor, Annek had the 
grace to thank “ the, laird ’’ for his protection of her. 


52 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


As they drove slowly off between piles of freight on 
the pier, Desparde heard this question and answer 
between the brother and sister. 

“ Wha ’s yon gentleman, ony gait ? De’il hae me if I 
know his neeme yet !” 

“ Oo, I dinna ken. We ay called him ‘ the laird.' He 
will be ane of the Montjoies, I’m thinking. He was 
alang o’ the auld airl at the castle.” 

And they drove out of hearing. 

Desparde, who had not yet dismissed his carriage, 
now re-entered it and ordered the driver to take him to 
the St. Boniface Hotel, where he registered his name as 
Jonathan Adams, New York, engaged a room and 
ordered breakfast. 

This dispatched, he walked out on his first investiga- 
tion around the city. In that crowded metropolis, 
where he knew no living creature except the poor 
woman and child whom chance had made his fellow- 
passengers, and her humble relatives from whom he. 
had just now parted, a feeling of unutterable loneliness, 
desolation and home-sickness came over him. An im- 
pulse to hurry back to his native country as fast as 
steam could take him, and see his friends again, at any 
cost to his pride or his principles, tempted him so sorely 
as to rouse his soul into a tumult ; his only remedy was 
to throw himself into some active employment that 
should absorb all his thoughts. The very errand that 
had brought him to the Crescent City — the desire to 
investigate his hidden family history, with all the details 
of the ghastly tragedy that had ruined his life, morbid 
as that desire was, furnished the employment he sought. 

He determined to begin his investigation that very 
day, by going to all the public libraries, where files of 
newspapers were kept, and looking over those of that 


THE WANDEEER. 


53 


fatal month and year in which the crime was committed 
and expiated. 

He first purchased a city directory to have constantly 
at hand, to find the places he desired to visit. 

Instructed by that guide he went to the Blankonian 
Library, the largest as well as the oldest in the city. 
There he asked of the assistant librarian the privilege 
of examining the files of city papers for the month of 
July in the year i8 — . 

He was conducted by a clerk to the alcove where they 
were preserved and then left to his search. 

Ah ! too soon for his peace he came to a copy of the 
same paper that had been shown him by Brandon Coyle 
on that fatal day of his flight. 

There again he recognized the ghastly headlines the 
first sight of which had stricken him down insensible 
and unconscious as the fabled head of Gorgon was said 
to have slain her beholder : 

The Execution of the Quadroon vSlave, Valdimir 
Desparde, for the Murder of his Master.” 

On this occasion he nerved himself to read the 
whole revolting narrative from beginning to end — and 
even the supplementary remarks of the editor, adding 
that a manuscript confession, containing the wonderful 
history of this “incarnate fiends ” career of crime in 
the United States, in Canada, and in the West Indies, 
was in the hands of his spiritual director and would be 
immediately given in pamphlet form to the public. 

While reading all the details of the last day on earth 
and the execution of the great criminal, a subtle doubt, 
like a first gleam of light striking into a dungeon, or a 
first ray of hope rising upon a soul overwhelmed in 
despair, entered the mind of Valdimir Desparde — a 
doubt whether the demon who bore his family name 
was really a member of his family at all. 


54 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


True, all the circumstances pointed to the hanged 
felon as the father of Valdimir and Vivienne. These 
circumstances have been related in a former chapter 
and need not be recapitulated here— they were over- 
whelming — convincing ; they had driven our unhappy 
young exile from his home, his country, his friends, 
and his promised bride. 

But now that he read the story of the crime and the 
execution in detail, there was a subtile something run- 
ning through the narrative that seemed to contradict 
them, conclusive as they were. 

“These are f acts, /acfs” said Valdimir Desparde to 
himself — “ but I divine the possibility of a truth, a key 
that may explain them all away. If I could only get 
hold of that confession said to contain the true auto- 
biography of the man.” 

He turned to the papers immediately following the 
one containing the account of the execution, and there 
again he found a clew to what he sought. It was in 
the advertising column of new publications, and it read 
as follows, in sensational type and notes of admiration : 

“ Ready ! Ready ! ! Ready ! ! ! The Wonderful Life 
and Adventures of John Sims, the Quadroon Slave, 
alias Valdimir Desparde, Gentleman, who was Executed 
for the Murder of his Master. With a Portrait.” 

“ ‘ John Sims V ” murmured the young gentleman to 
himself, as the doubt born of his first reading grew in- 
to large proportions. “‘John Sims?’ Was that the 
man’s name ? And was the other only an alias ! If so, 
how came he by it ? And under which name did he 
marry — our — Heaven ! I cannot believe it ! I must 
find that confession and learn the whole truth, or I 
shall go mad. This doubt is worse than any certainty.” 

With the paper in his hands, he went again to the 


THE WANDERER. 


55 


librarian, and pointing to the advertised pamphlet, he 
inquired : 

“ Is there a copy of this in your collection ?” 

The polite librarian took the paper, glanced at the 
title of the work indicated, and then raised his eyes in 
simple wonder to the refined and intellectual face of the 
gentleman who had called for such a rank specimen of 
the literature of the gutter, and replied : 

“ That ! Certainly not, sir ! We do not lumber our 
shelves with such very objectionable garbage as that !” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Valdimir Desparde, flush- 
ing and turning away, fully conscious of the false step 
he had taken, the offense he had given in asking for 
such a work in so select a library — the possibility of 
which he had forgotten in the eagerness of his pursuit. 

“ He is some ‘ Variety ’ playwright, I presume, look- 
ing for sensational material,” said the librarian to him- 
self. Then feeling some compunction for the severity 
of his speech to the stranger, he spoke up and said : 

“ I think the most likely places where to procure the 
work you want, sir, will be the second-hand book-stores 
and the old book-stands, of which you may find any 
number scattered throughout the city.” 

“I thank you, sir,” replied young Desparde, with a 
courteous bow ; and then, having replaced the files of 
newspapers in their places, he left the library with the 
intention of following the librarian’s advice. 



CHAPTER V. 

THE SEARCH. 

They who have never warred with misery. 

Nor ever tugged with fortune and distress. 

Hath had n' occasion nor a field to try 
The strength and forces of His worthiness ; 

Those parts of judgment which felicity 

Keeps as concealed, afflictions must express. 

And only men show their abilities, 

And what they are, in their extremities. 

Daniel. 

The next few days were spent by Valdimir Desparde 
in hunting the old book-stands and second-hand book- 
stores of the city, at every one of which he inquired for 
the pamphlet he so much desired to procure ; but in 
vain. 

Many of the venders of literary litter had never even 
heard of the work in question, or the man whose career 
it professed to relate ; others, upon taxing their memo- 
ries, were enabled to recollect having heard of the exe- 
cution, but it was so long ago — so many men had been 
hanged since then — that the tragedy had nearly faded 
from their minds. 

Then Desparde offered to each one of these dealers 

[56] 


THE SEARCH. 


57 


in old books a large price for a copy of the pamphlet, 
if they should be so fortunate as to find one in any of 
the collections they were in the habit of purchasing, 
either at auction or at private sales, and all promised to 
be on the lookout for the required work. 

Meanwhile much speculation was rife among these 
“merchants” as to who this really very refined and 
intellectual man — this Mr. Jonathan Adams (most 
probably of Boston, Massachusetts)— really could be, and 
what on earth he could want with such a book. And 
various were the conclusions at which they arrived. 

One bookseller thought he was a story writer in 
search of a plot from real life ; another felt sure that 
he was a law3^er compiling a book of famous criminal 
trials, and wanting more facts connected with this par- 
ticular case than he could get from the records of the 
court, or even from the newspaper files of the period. 

But whatever their differences of opinion in regard 
to his object in wanting the book, every one honestly 
sought hard to find it for him. 

But the search proved fruitless. 

Then one dealer, more enterprising than his fellows, 
advertised for the book, and kept the advertisement 
standing ; but when weeks passed without bringing any 
response he stopped it. 

Then Valdimir Desparde put the same advertisement 
in all the city papers, with the determination to keep it 
there for months if necessary, until he should find the 
coveted pamphlet, that seemed to grow more precious, 
and more to be desired, with every difficulty and delay 
he met with in his search for it. 

To find this work seemed now the one object of his 
life. He had become quite morbid on the subject. He 
might have seemed insane upon it, had not his clear, 
sound reason told him that he was morbid in attaching 


58 


BRANDON OOYLE’s WIFE. 


SO much importance to the discovery of that pamphlet, 
and even caused him to wonder at the power of the sus- 
tained impulse that continued to drive him in the vain 
pursuit. 

We said the finding- of that book seemed to be the 
one object of his life ; but it was not the only source of 
his anxiety. 

He longed to hear from his home— from Arielle ! 

He had written to Brandon Coyle on the very same 
day on which he had embarked from New York for New 
Orleans. He had given his correspondent instructions 
to address his next letter to the general post-office at 
New Orleans. 

After the first two weeks in the city he had gone daily 
to the post-office in hope of getting a letter, but had 
always been disappointed. 

Then he calculated the time and found that four 
weeks at least, if not five, would be required to elapse 
between the day of his writing from New York to Lon- 
don and the day when he might reasonably expect an 
answer to his letter to reach New Orleans. 

So he waited with impatience, but not with anxiety, 
for two weeks longer, going every day to the post- 
office, however, to inquire for a letter, in case one might 
have come by a very swift passage. None came ; and 
at the end of the two weeks he grew very anxious to 
know what could have been the cause of the delay. 

When he had last heard of Arielle by the letter he 
had received from Coyle in New York she had recovered 
her health and spirits. 

He was still engaged in this vain search when, one 
day, near the middle of August, he went to the general 
post-office, as it was his daily custom to do, and, on 
inquiry, he received a letter post-marked London, and 
directed in the handwriting of Brandon Coyle. 


THE SEARCH. 


59 


Too impatient to wait until he should get home to his 
hotel, he withdrew to a corner of the lobby, and there 
he opened and read the letter. 

It was that letter from Brandon Coyle inclosing the 
second letter — the cruel forgery, the combined work of 
the evil brother and sister, but purporting to be a 
genuine letter from Lady Arielle Montjoie to her friend, 
Aspirita Coyle, announcing her ladyship’s engagement 
to a gentleman “ approved ” by her grandparents, and it 
was “ forwarded,” wrote young Coyle, “ from a sense of 
duty to a friend.” 

He had but hastily, breathlessly, glanced over Bran- 
don’s letter, and gathered that the inclosed one was 
from Arielle to Aspirita, when, without any forewarn- 
ing suspicion of its contents, he eagerly opened and 
began to read it, thankful to his correspondent for giv- 
ing him once more the joy of seeing the beloved hand- 
writing ; but when he came to the following words, his 
eyes dilated with amazement and his cheeks paled with 
despair : 

‘‘ You say, dear friend, that you have heard the rumor 
of my betrothal to a certain party, and you express 
your surprise that I could so soon have forgotten one to 
whom I once seemed to be very strongly attached. 

“ Let me, in my turn, declare my astonishment that 
you should even na7ne that person to me ! 

“ I feel that it would be degrading to me to waste 
more thought on one who has proved himself so utterly 
false, base, treacherous ; so I have consented to receive 
the attentions of a gentleman, approved by my grand- 
parents as entirely worthy of esteem and affection. 

“We are indeed betrothed, and our marriage will 
come off in a few weeks. I bespeak you as my first 
b'ride’s-maid.” 


60 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


Valdimir Desparde had not read quite so far as this, 
in the false, forged letter, before sense and reason were 
submerged in the rushing tumult of heart and brain. 

The scene seemed to whirl around him and disap- 
pear. 

So he lost consciousness. 

In the crowd that had gathered no one could identify 
the stranger. 

His pockets were searched, but no cards or letters 
bearing his address could be found. 

Only the envelope of the letter in his hand bore the 
address: “Jonathan Adams, Esq., Post-Office, New 
Orleans.” 

So he was put in a spring wagon and taken to the 
city hospital. 

Here he lay, attended by the hospital medical staff, for 
days in a state of insensibility, and for weeks too ill to 
give any account of himself. 

When at the end of a month, he was able to answer 
questions, he gave his name as Jonathan Adams, and 
his address. 

He also soon requested to be removed from the pub- 
lic ward to a private room, for which he declared him- 
self able and willing to pay. 

His request was complied with, and every comfort 
and luxury was supplied him. 

Under these improved circumstances his vigorous 
young manhood successfully combatted both bodily and 
mental ills, and he convalesced slowly but surely. 

On the very first day that he was permitted to sit up, 
and accorded the use of pen, ink, and paper, he availed 
himself of the privilege to answer Brandon Coyle’s 
false and cruel letter. That answer has been recorded 
in a previous chapter of this story, and need not be 
repeated here. 


THE SEARCH. 


61 


One week from the day on which he first sat up, and 
and five weeks from the day of his entrance into the 
hospital, he left it, in full health as to body, though in 
hopeless sorrow as to soul. 

He no longer cared even to pursue his search for the 
pamphlet once so earnestly desired. 

Why should he care to unravel the mystery, or vindi- 
cate himself, now that Arielle was irretrievably lost to 
him ? 

Nothing now seemed left for him to live for ; and yet 
he lived ! If ever 

“ Conscience does make cowards of us all,” 

as the great poet declares, it quite as often makes 
heroes. 

If Valdimir Desparde, with happiness destroyed and 
hope dead, continued to live on with the prospect of 
living for half a century longer, he did so because he felt 
it to be his duty to the Divine Life-Giver to hold and 
guard His gift through sorrow as through joy, through 
ill report as through good report, until He should 
require it at his hands. 

It was a great dread to the young man, this stretch 
of barren, dreary life into the long future. 

But soon a way of escape opened. Before he went 
into the hospital he had heard that a few cases of yel- 
low fever — that periodical scourge of the Gulf States — 
had appeared in the thickly crowded portions of the 
city, near the water. He had paid little attention to this 
rumor, his mind having been at that time engrossed 
by his anxiety to find the pamphlet and to hear from 
his home — even though people were then already leav- 
ing the city, as all who could get away always did on 
the very first note of alarm. 

During the five weeks of his illness in the seclusion 


62 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


of his private chamber of thfe institution, he heard 
nothing of what was going on in the outside world. How 
should he hear, indeed — he, who had no friends in the 
city, and, consequently, no visitors at his bedside except 
his physician and his nurse. 

But when he walked forth from the hospital he 
scarcely recognized the city again. 

The once crowded thoroughfares were nearly desert- 
ed. Many houses were shut up and abandoned, many 
of the stores were closed, and an air of strange deso- 
lation and deep gloom pervaded the place. 

As he passed street after street on his way to his 
former lodgings, he saw that only the druggists and the 
undertakers seemed to be doing an active business. 

He reached the hotel, re-registered his name, and en- 
gaged better rooms than he had previousl}" been able to 
secure, for there was a plenty of space, “ and to spare,” 
in that, as well as in every hotel in the city, for every 
one who could fly from the prevailing plague had fled. 

Valdimir had been shielded from news of “ the fever,” 
during his confinement in the hospital ; but now “ the 
fever ” met him at every turn — in the office, in the 
reading-room, in the public parlor, in the dining-room 
— everywhere, everywhere, nothing but talk of “ the 
fever.” 

In the conversation going on all around him every- 
where, Valdimir Desparde heard of the great destitu- 
tion and suffering of the sick poor — of their want of 
medicine, food, clothing, and most especially their want 
of attention. Indeed it was said that there were many 
cases of whole families being sick in their houses, with 
everything else they could require except attendance. 

Here, then, was Valdimir Desparde’s opportunity. 
He had money — several thousand pounds, that he had 
brought from England — lodged in the City Bank. He 


THE SEARCH. 


63 


had life and health and strength, all to give to the sick 
poor. He felt a thrill of pleasure in the thought that he 
had so much to give, but scarcely any merit in giving 
what he valued so little, what, in truth, he would will- 
ingly get rid of, if he could do so in the line of duty. 
He would not throw his health and strength and life 
away, but he would give them where the}^ could serve 
humanity. 

The next morning Valdimir Desparde offered his ser- 
vices to the Christian Commission, requesting to be 
placed on duty among the poorest of the sick and suf- 
fering. 

And he had his wish. 

For many weeks after this he worked indefatigably 
among the destitute, fever-stricken families, supplying 
their wants from his own purse, and ministering at 
their bedsides to their humblest necessities. 

One day, when he had just got through with his 
duties in a house where all the members of the family 
had been stricken, and where four had recovered and 
two had passed away, he went to the office of the Chris- 
tian Commission to report. 

“ Glad you have come,” said the commissioner then 
on duty. “ Here is a house — a whole row of houses, in 
fact — but one house in particular of the row, where all 
the family, consisting of eight persons, are ill, with the 
exception of two young children. We have not a soul 
to send them.” 

‘‘I will go immediately. Where is the place?” 
promptly inquired Valdimir. 

“ It is Leroy Place. The house in question is No. 7, 
a tobacconist s,” replied the commissioner, referring to 
a memorandum on his desk, and then passing it to Des- 
parde. 

“ No. 7 Leroy Place, a tobacconist’s ! Why, it is 


64 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 

poorYok’s family !” exclaimed Valdimir, compassion- 
ately. 

“ You know the people ?” inquired the commissioner, 
looking up from the book in which he was making 
entries. 

“ Yes ! I knew them long ago in the old country. I 
have known them here also. I will go immediately,” 
said Desparde, as he left the office. 

He called a passing cab and threw himself into it, 
gave his order, hurried to his banker’s, drew out a sum 
of money, thence to a drug store, laid in a store of such 
medicines as he knew would be required, and thence to 
a provision store for such articles of nourishment as 
would be needed, and fincdly on to Leroy Place. 

There the sorrowful but two common sight of deadly 
illness and deep destitution met his view. No life was 
abroad in the place. No man, woman or child passed 
in the street, no children played before the doors, no 
faces appeared at the windows. 

He drew up at No. 7, alighted, paid and discharged 
the cab, and entered the shop. 

There was no one visible except Donald, the ten-year- 
old lad, who stood behind the counter, but looked so 
sallow and haggard that he seemed scarcely able to 
stand. 

The shop was in the saddest state of confusion and 
neglect — the windows, the counter, the glass case and 
the boxes all covered thickly with dust, and the floor 
was littered with torn paper, shreds, straw, and other 
debris. 

“ My poor boy,” said Desparde, pitifully, “ you look 
scarcely able to be out of bed. Is there no one up but 
you ?” 

“Nay, but I maun mind shop,” replied the lad, in a 
forlorn tone. 


THE SEARCH. 


65 


“ There is not the least need for your doing so ; no 
one is coming here to buy. Go into the back room now 
and lie down on that settee I see there, and I will come 
and attend to you soon. Now where are the others ? I 
must see them.” 

“Up stairs i’ their beds,” replied the lad, who was 
willingly obeying Desparde’s order, and walking feebly 
towards his place of temporary rest. 

Desparde left the shop by the side door and went up 
the front stairs leading to the bed-chambers. 

Distressing moans met his ear as he reached the land- 
ing, upon which three doors opened, one from the front 
chamber, one from the back, and one from the little 
hall chamber. 

The last mentioned was immediately before him. 
He entered that little room first. 

Ah ! what a sight ! 

There, extended on the bed, lay the forms of Annek 
and little Eric, already past all human help, all earthly 
want. 

“ This is a case for the undertaker, not for the nurse,” 
he said. 

And he took from his pocket a roll of black cambric, 
tore off a strip, hoisted the window of the room and 
fastened the black flag to the sash as a signal for the 
“ dead-cart ” to stop as it passed. 

Then he went into the next room, where he found 
Alek Yok and his wife ill on one bed and two of the 
boys on the other, while in the back room beyond lay 
Jan Yok, dying, and the third boy delirious, and below, 
in the back parlor, lay the youngest lad, ill with the 
premonitory symptoms of the fever. 

I promised to be brief with this part of my story, and 
I will be so. 


66 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


That afternoon the remains of Annek and Eric were 
laid in the earth. 

The next day those of Jan Yok were placed by their 
side. 

All the other members of the family recovered. 

But it was two weeks before Valdimir Desparde was 
released from duty in that house. 

By the first of November there was not a single case 
in the city. 

It was while nursing the last patient who came under 
his charge that fortune favored Valdimir Desparde in 
an unexpected manner. 

The man was convalescent and seriously inclined. 
One morning he asked his kind attendant to bring him 
a volume of John Wesley’s sermons from a book-shelf 
in the parlor. 

Valdimir Desparde went to bring it. 

The parlor was poor and plain. Three hanging 
shelves over the dusty mantel-piece supported three 
rows of books and pamphlets. 

Valdimir, looking for the required volume, took down 
several books, and accidentally knocked down a pile 
of old pamphlets. 

In stooping to gather these up from the floor, his 
eyes fell upon the title of one of them. 

It was the book he had been in search of for the last 
four months — “ The Wonderful Life and Adventures 
of John Sims, Quadroon Slave, alias Valdimir Desparde, 
Gentleman.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE DISCOVERY. 

’Tis not to pray Heav’n's mercy, or to sit 
And droop, or to confess that thou hast sinned ; 

'Tis to bewail the sins thou didst commit, 

And not commit these sins thpu hast bewailed. 

He that bewails and not forsakes them too. 
Confesses rather what he means to do. 

Shakespeare. 

Valdimir Desparde had found the pamphlet he had 
so long and so vainly sought ; found it after he had 
given up the search in despair ; found it when he was 
least expecting or thinking of it ! It had suddenly 
fallen into his hands as if it had dropped from the sky ! 

Yet he handled it with a sense of shrinking, as from 
something morally unclean ! 

The next instant, however, his eyes were fixed spell- 
bound to the picture on the cover — the portrait of a 
man whose criminal life and tragic death was narrated 
within. 

It was a fine, dark face of wonderful beauty and 
spirit, which not even the rude wood engraving could 
spoil. 

But it was not the beauty and passion of the face 
that fascinated the gaze of the beholder. 


[67] 


68 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


It was its amazing likeness to his friend, Bran- 
don Coyle ! ! 

It was a stronger and more striking likeness than 
any photograph he had ever seen of the heir of Cave- 
land ! There were the same beautiful but rather sen- 
sual features, the same symmetrical, low forehead, the 
same straight nose and full, curved lips which the 
short, well-trimmed mustache adorned, but did not 
conceal, the same curling black hair, thick black eye- 
brows, long and heavy black eyelashes overhanging 
large, luminous, languishing black eyes. 

In a word, it was the perfectly pictured face of 
Brandon Coyle, as no photographer had ever succeeded 
in giving it ! 

Valdimir Desparde’s amazement grew as he gazed ! 
He dropped into a chair, still holding the portrait 
before his spell-bound eyes. 

“ What is the meaning of this ?” he asked himself 
again and again, without obtaining the faintest sign of 
an answer. 

For even then not the slightest forewarning of the 
ugly fact he was soon to learn entered his unsuspicious 
mind. 

In his amazement he had forgotten all about the 
book he had come to fetch until he was aroused by the 
shrill treble of his patient, whose voice was sharpened 
by sickness, demanding : 

“ Haven’t you found Wesley’s sermon’s yet ? They 
are on the bottom shelf, hanging over the mantle- 
piece ! You can’t miss them !” 

Valdimir started up as one awakened from a dream, 
and snatching the volume^ in question from its place, 
hurried into the adjoining room, taking also the 
pamphlet with him. 

“ Here is the book, Mr. La Motte. And here is 4 


THE DISCOVERY. 


69 


pamphlet that I wish you would lend me,” said the 
young gentleman, laying both volumes on the little 
stand beside the convalescent’s chair. 

La Motte pushed the “ Sermons ” aside for a moment 
and took up the pamphlet to see what it might be. 

“ I have been hunting for that work for the last four 
months through every bookstore and bookstand in the 
city, and have advertised for it in every paper,” con- 
tinued Desparde. 

“ This T' said La Motte, in surprise. “ Do you mean 
this! This Life and Adventures of John Sims ?” 

“ Yes, that very pamphlet !” 

‘‘ And you might have had a dozen of them. My 
father-in-law was the publisher of it !” exclaimed the 
convalescent. 

“ Then why in the world didn’t you answer my 
advertisement when I offered so high a price for a 
copy !” 

“ I never saw the advertisement —wasn’t in the city. 
Just got back from my last voyage to the coast of 
Africa, when I was knocked down by Yellow Jack ! If 
you want that book you are welcome to it ! And a 
dozen more like it. My father-in-law died some years 
ago and his stock in trade was sold for the benefit of 
his heirs. A lot of rubbish was left on hand as unsal- 
able, however, and a few dozens of that among it ! 
Help yourself, my friend ! Take an armful of ‘John 
Simses * if you want them ! ’ 

“Thanks, very much, but this one book is quite 
sufficient,” said Desparde. 

“Well, I should think it might be of hiniT replied 
La Motte. 

“—And while you read ‘ Wesley,’ will you excuse me 
if I look over this ?” demanded Desparde, in feverish 
anxiety to peruse the pamphlet. 


70 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ See here, my young friend," said La Motte, taking 
the book of sermons and putting it out of sight in the 
stand drawer, “ I have lost my inclination to study the 
great evangelist now. Your interest in this fellow 
Sims has interested me / You can take that book away 
with you, if you please ; but you needn’t take the trou- 
ble to read it, because it isn’t more than half true ; or, 
if it is, the truth is so painted and varnished as to be 
hardly recognizable ! Now, if you want the whole plain 
truth about the fellow, I can give it to you !’’ 

“ You r exclaimed Desparde. 

“Yes, I ! Of course, 1 don’t know why you should 
care to know it, or whether you mean to write a-novel 
or a drama founded on it ; but I ^lo know I can give you 
all the real facts, if you want to know them.’’ 

“ They — the real facts — are just exactly what I want 
to know. And you say you can tell them ?’’ 

‘Yes. I knew John Sims from the day of his birth 
to the day of his death. My father’s farm joined his 
old master’s plantation." 

“Tell me all you know.** 

“Well, his father was a gentleman of high position, 
great family, vast wealth and very great pride, and a 
very domineering will ! Yes, sir ! His father was all 
that, and his mother was a pretty mulatto slave, with a 
temper like gun-cotton ! Those were his parents, Mr. 
Adams !’’ 

“ Is it possible !’’ muttered the young man to himself. 

“ Yes, sir ! He was the son of a gentleman, of a very 
proud and arrogant race, and yet he was born a slave ; 
for in our part of the country the children are born into 
the condition of the mother.’’ 

“I know it,’’ muttered Valdimir. 

“ Think, sir, what such a boy, the offspring of such 
opposite and jarring elements of character, must have 


THE DISCOVERT. 


71 


been ! Think of the slave son of the slave mother in- 
heriting the haughty spirit and domineering temper of 
the master father ! Do you wonder he grew up ‘ neither 
fearing God nor regarding man,’ and with a hatred of 
the whole human race burning in his heart ? Do you 
wonder that, while yet a lad, he became a fugitive from 
slavery, and that he ended his career by slaying his 
young master ? — and let the terrible truth be known, /i/s 
brother — for, sir, they were the sons of one father. But 
do you wonder at this ?” 

“ I do not,” replied Valdimir, in a low voice. 

“ No, nor do I. I only wonder such fearful crimes are 
not oftener committed under the same circumstances. 
Yet no one would have predicated crime of the little 
lad we all used to like so well ! Why, Johnnie was the 
pet of the neighborhood. He was a beautiful boy, with 
regular features and large, soft dark eyes, and a shower 
of long, silky, black ringlets covering his head and fall- 
ing around his face. He was the pet of the plantation 
and of the farm alike. Everybody loved the boy, and 
he warmly responded to all love. He was his pretty, 
affectionate mother all over again ! But the demon was 
in him, for all that, sir ! His father’s demon was in 
him ! And being in him, of course it had to come out 
of him.” 

“Of course,” mechanically assented Desparde. 

“ Well, sir, when the boy was about thirteen years 
old, his poor, little, pretty mother died. He had no 
brother or sister, no acknowledged tie on earth but his 
mother. When she was gone, all ties between him and 
the plantation were broken. He availed himself of the 
first opportunity to escape from the slavery that was 
too galling to his father’s arrogance within him. The 
opportunity soon came. The family went to Niagara 
that summer, as was their custom every year. And for 


72 


BRANDON COYLE 's WIFE. 


the first time his old master took Johnnie as his own 
‘body-servant.’ The young master was then at Yale 
College ; but he joined his family at the Falls during 
the vacation.” 

“ I am sure I do not know why I should ask you ; but 
who were the members of that family at that time ?” 
inquired Valdimir Desparde. 

“ Well, there was the old master, old Mr. Millerue, 
his wife, two sons and three daughters. The young 
man at Yale was the oldest ; the others were growing 
girls and boys ; and they were all at Niagara together 
on this summer of which I speak.” 

“ Yes, thank you. Pray, go on !” 

“Well, I can only tell you from hearsay what hap- 
pened at the Falls. If seems that the beauty and 
brightness of the quadroon boy attracted attention even 
there, especially from a Canadian philanthropist, who 
first of all, wanted to buy Johnnie and take him to Can- 
ada to be educated ; but, bless your life and soul, the 
Millerues received the offer as an insult, and young 
Millerue challenged the Canadian to fight a duel.” 

“ And did they do so ?” 

“ Lord, love you, no, sir ! The cowardly Canadian 
handed over the young Southerner to the police, and 
he had to pay an enormous fine, or else go to prison, for 
sending a challenge. He preferred to pay the fine.” 

“ And what next ?” 

“ A few days after that the boy was missed and could 
not be found. Old Mr. Millerue offered a reward for his 
apprehension — not as a slave^ you observe, sir — for that 
would have availed him nothing in that latitude ; for as 
he had voluntarily brought the slave upon free .soil, as 
a slave he could have abandoned his master if he had 
pleased to do so, and his master could have had no rem- 
edy ; but Johnnie was a minor y and his master adver- 


THE DISCOVERY. 


73 


tised him as a fugitive or an abducted ward, and offered 
a large sum of money for his apprehension. You see 
the point, Mr. Adams 

“ Yes, I see." * 

“ Well, sir, nothing came of the reward offered ; 
nothing more was heard of the boy. It was, of course, 
believed that the Canadian had spirited him away 
across the boundary line." 

“ An easy thing to do at that point," observed Des- 
parde. 

“ Quite easy, sir," assented La Motte. 

“ But I wonder that the Canadian was not summoned 
by writ oi habeas corpus to produce the boy in court," said 
Valdimir. 

“ Yes, sir ; but, you see, ‘ before you cook your rabbit 
you must first catch it.’ You can’t serve a writ on a 
man until you find him. The Canadian had disappeared. 
No, sir ; you may depend that everything was done that 
could be done by those obstinate, domineering, perse- 
vering Millerues to recover the fugitive, for, besides valu- 
ing him highly as a piece of property, they all liked him 
very much for himself. They came home that autumn 
in a fine rage, and never ceased to rail at the treacher- 
ous Canadian until the illness and death of the old man 
gave them something else to think about. The young 
master came home from college to attend his father’s 
funeral, and never returned North. He remained on 
the plantation to oversee the overseer, and to protect 
and console his mother and sisters ; but nothing more 
was heard of Johnnie Sims for years after his flight — 
not, indeed, until he was arrested under another name. 
Let me see that pamphlet for an instant, Mr. Adams. 
Ah, thank you, that was the name — Valdimir Desparde. 
It was a queer name, and I had nearly forgotten it. He 
was arrested under the name of Valdimir Desparde, 


74 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


and brought to trial for the murder of his master, then 
the younger Millerue.” 

The face of our young exile must have betrayed the 
deep and strong emotion that shook his soul like a 
tempest, had he not turned in his seat so as to place his 
back to the light, before asking the next question : 

“ When and under what circumstances did he assume 
that alias ?” 

“ Oh, you shall hear, sir ! You will see what good 
use he made of that aristocratic foreign name. Why, 
sir, what with his beauty and his brightness, his college 
education, and his fine name, he, a fugitive slave from 
Louisiana, actually married a young English girl of 
good family. Ran away with her, I grant you, but 
married her all the same !” 

‘‘ That was terrible !” muttered Desparde, with a 
shudder. 

“ It made a sensation down in these parts when it 
became known, I can tell you that, Mr. Adams. But — ” 

“ Let me interrupt you for a moment. Did that most 
unhappy young lady know the antecedents of the man 
she so fatally entrusted with her happiness and honor ?” 

“ No, sir ; it appears that she believed him to be a 
Polish exile of rank. No, sir, she didn’t know his begin- 
ning, but it is certain she did know his end. He had 
left her months before in Washington City, where she 
was reduced to such extreme poverty that the clergy- 
man, or the physician, or somebody who attended her in 
her last illness, wrote over to the old country to her 
nearest relation to send her some relief, and he — the 
rich relation — came over in person to take her and her 
two children back with him. But, Lord love you, sir, 
she was too far gone in a decline to undertake the 
voyage ; so the best he could do for her was to move 
her to better lodgings and make her comfortable as long 


THE DISCOVERY. 


75 


as she lived. After her death that same rich relation 
took the boy and girl home with him to England.” 

Our exile bowed his smitten head under the force of 
this corroborating testimony to the truth of his own 
early recollections. Did he not remember the last ill- 
ness of his mother, the visit of the clergyman, the letter 
written by her bedside, the arrival some time later of 
the wealthy relative, their removal from squalor to 
splendor, then the death and funeral of their mother, and 
the departure and sea voyage of himself and his sister 
under the guardianship of their wealthy relative ? Did 
he not remember the severe reticence of their guardian 
upon all subjects connected with the early life of him- 
self and his sister ? 

As he remembered these circumstances and com- 
pared them with the present statement of La Motte, 
the faint hope that had arisen in his heart — the hope 
that, after all, the felon who had taken his name for an 
alias might really not be anything to him — sank under 
the overwhelming weight of the circumstantial evidence. 
But here a question occurred to him : 

“ Since all this happened to the ill-fated young lady 
in Washington City, and you were in New Orleans at 
the time, how did you become acquainted with the cir- 
cumstances ?'* 

La Motte stared at his questioner for a moment, and 
then answered : 

“ Why, through the Washington correspondents of 
the New Orleans papers to be sure ! Why, sir, do you 
think such a sensational story as connected with a 
criminal trial, could be corked up in a bottle even 

“ I suppose not. But will you tell me something of 
this man’s history between the time of his flight from 
his master at the age of thirteen and his execution at 
the age of thirty-three ? Something else, I mean, beyond 


76 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


the one bald fact of his having run away with a young 
English lady whom he courted under a false name. I 
could, of course, read this pamphlet, and I shall do so 
after a while. But, in the meanwhile, I wish to have 
your account, which, you say, will be the most truthful 
of the two.” 

“ Yes, sir, for it will be given from my own knowl- 
edge, or from evidence heard by me in court.” 

“ Then I shall thank you for the authentic narrative, 
I assure you.” 

“ One thing I must specify of this young man from 
the beginning — that, notwithstanding his really brilliant 
genius and his college education, he had the streak of 
an idiot or a maniac in him, or he never could have 
acted the mad part he did in conducting himself with 
such a reckless disregard of consequences.” 

“ Is not all crime insanity ? Are not all criminals 
maniacs ?” put in De.sparde. 

“ Hum-m-me !” muttered La Motte, slowly. “All 
crime may be moral insanity, if you please, but not 
mental insanity. What I meant to say of the man in 
question is this — that he was not only morally perverted, 
but mentally unsound, as you will see before we have 
done with his story. You want me to begin with this 
from the time of his flight from Niagara Falls ?” 

“ I do.” 

“ Well, Mr. Adams, as it turned out, the master’s sus- 
picion was the truth — the Canadian assisted him to 
flee into Canada. The Canadian met him at some given 
point on the route and took him to Montreal.” 

“Yes.” 

“ When they arrived at that city his benefactor inter- 
ested certain reformers, philanthropists, and abolition- 
ists in his favor, and they placed the boy in the Jesuit 
College there to be educated. And there he remained 


the discotery. 


77 


for eight years — beginning his education in the lowest 
class of the preparatory school, and ascending gradu- 
ally to the highest, winning through his whole school 
and college career ‘ golden opinions ’ from classmates, 
professors and patrons. Ambition seemed to be the 
ruling passion of the youth — pride inherited from his 
father’s haughty race, sir. You see that ?” 

“ Yes,” sighed Desparde. 

“ Well, sir, at the end of eight years he graduated 
with the highest honors of his college. Ah ! were not 
his philanthropic patrons proud of their work when 
they looked at this youth rescued from bondage and 
educated to become an honor to his race !” 

“ I presume they were,” languidly assented Valdimir. 

“ But I am not so sure they did not alter their opinion 
about the possibility of making a ‘ silk purse out of a 
swine’s ear ’ before all was over, sir. However, it was 
an experiment, and apparently a successful one. And 
so the experimentors petted the experiment. After he 
had graduated with such distinguished honor, his 
patrons put their heads together to provide for his 
future. They gave him the choice of three learned 
professions — law, medicine and theology. He chose the 
law as offering the finest field for his talents and his 
ambition. And, sir, he was placed in one of the best 
law schools in the country. There, also, he did amaz- 
ing credit to his patrons, and finally graduated with 
the highest honors.” 

“ It is strange that a young man of such brilliant 
talents and such excellent patronage should have fallen 
into such degradation and crime,” commented Desparde. 

“ No, Mr. Adams, I do not think that it is strange. If 
he had been taken younger— a great deal younger, 
before he could have had any knowledge of his birth 
and parentage — he might have done better. But he 


78 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


was thirteen years old at the time of the great change 
in his fortune, with the full memory of his degraded 
childhood, and with all his inherited pride. So the 
higher he rose in social position the deeper to him 
seemed the disgrace of his origin. The more honor he 
gained in his youth, the more shame he felt in the 
memory of his childhood. Thus pride and shame made 
perpetual discord in his soul. Surely you can under- 
stand this.” 

“Yes, I can understand with the evils of two 
opposite races in his organization.” 

“ Well, after he had been admitted to the bar he 
opened an office on Main street ; but clients did not 
crowd to his chambers with the enthusiasm expected 
by the young man or his admirers. He got very little to 
do. ‘ Satan finds some mischief,’ etc. You know the 
proverb. The time that should have been devoted to 
knotty law points — to ‘ making the worse appear the bet- 
ter cause,’ etc. — was wasted in amusement. Money that 
could not be made by law was won by gambling. 
'He got into bad company ; then into worse. Bah ! 
what is the use . of describing every mile-stone that 
measures the distance down the broad road that leads 
to destruction ? You will find it all in that pamphlet 
in your hand. That part of the story seems to be faith- 
fully enough related.” 

Valdimir looked at the book, but made no reply. 

La Motte continued : 

“ One day all the world was startled by the shock of 
a tremendous bank robbery— by far the greatest haul 
that had ever been known in the Canadas, and which 
utterly baffled the police from that day to the day 
when that confession you hold in your hand was 
published — when, of course, it was too lata to bring 
the robbers to punishment.” 


THE DISCOVERY. 


79 


“ Do you mean to say that young Sims was con- 
cerned in the robbery ?” inquired Valdimir. 

“ Yes, of course, though he never was suspected of 
it. That robbery was not committed by any ordinary 
burglars, but by young men who held responsible posi- 
tions — and who, therefore, were never suspected. 
However, a few months after it had been committed, 
whether it was from fear of discovery, or what not, 
Sims determined to leave Montreal. The excuse he 
made to his patrons, who were in blissful ignorance of 
his wild life, was that he had no success in Montreal, 
and wished to try his fortune in Quebec. They gave 
him letters to persons of distinction in that city. He 
went hither, but did not present any of his letters, for the 
reason that he did not intend to stay there. He had a 
very large sum of money in gold, and he determined to 
travel and see the world. He sailed for England, and 
he spent months in traveling both over frequented 
and unfrequented routes. It was at Gibraltar that he 
made the acquaintance of a young English gentleman, 
an officer in the oooth Regiment, then stationed in 
the garrison there. Well, it seems that this Captain 
Desparde — ” 



CHAPTER VII. 


DAWNING DAY. 

Courage! You travel through a darksome cave, 

But still, as nearer to the light you draw, 

Fresh gales will meet you from the upper air, 

And wholesome dews of heaven your forehead lave. 

The darkness lighten more, till full of awe 
You stand in the open sunshine unaware. 

R. C. Trench. 

“ Eh ? — Stop ! What — what name did you say ?” 
exclaimed the hearer, in great agitation. 

“ I said Desparde — Captain Valdimir Desparde, of 
Her Majesty’s oooth Regiment of Foot — the man whose 
money, jewels, letters and name he took, and for whom 
he passed himself off in this country.” 

” How strange !” exclaimed our exile, as the light 
burst upon him. 

“What is the matter ? You are agitated,” exclaimed 
La Motte, in his turn. 

“ I — I — Captain Desparde was — a near relative,” 
stammered Valdimir. 

“ Oh, indeed ! Then it is enough to upset you !” 
said Sims’s biographer, who would then have asked 
[8o] 


DAWNING DAY. 


81 


many questions upon the subject had not his young- 
hearer besought him to proceed at once with his narra- 
tive. 

“ To think of you being mixed up in any way with 
this ! No wonder you wanted to get hold of the con- 
fession. Well, Mr. Adams, it appears that this Captain 
Desparde was himself descended on one side from 
English nobles, and on the other from Polish princes, 
and that his early youth had been passed in Poland ; 
but his family had come to England after the suppres- 
sion of the last attempt at revolution there, and that 
by the help of his English relatives he got a commission 
in the English army. His regiment was stationed at 
Gibraltar at the time he first met our adventurer.” 

“Yes, you told me that.” 

“ Well, sir, it appears that this Captain Desparde was 
a very wild young fellow himself, and kept very wild 
company. But you might have judged as much from 
the fact of his acquaintance with John Sims.” 

“ I should think so,” assented Valdimir. 

“ At all events they were great cronies, although the 
Anglo-Pole, being the most skillful gambler of the two, 
won a good deal of the quadroon’s money. Now came 
a crisis. The captain had applied for three months’ 
leave of absence, which he confidently expected to get 
and which he intended to spend by running over to the 
United States and making a short tour there. He had 
never been to America, he had no friends or acquaint- 
ances over there, but still he wished to go. He pro- 
vided himself with letters of introduction from persons 
of distinction in London to their peers in society in 
New York and Washington ; also with funds for his 
voyage. He was only waiting for dispatches from the 
Horse Guards with his coveted furlough. But when 
the dispatches came at length they contained no leave 


82 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


of absence for the young captain, but, on the contrary, 
orders for the regiment to sail at once for Calcutta, 
Well, sir, all this the captain told his boon companion 
that night, and in his vexation got so drunk that Sims 
had to take him home to his quarters and remain with 
him through the night. That night it was that the 
robbery was successfully effected ; but days passed 
before the loss was discovered ; they were in the bustle 
' incident upon embarkation. There was not much 
opportunity for thorough investigation. The regiment 
sailed and the matter of the robbery was left in charge 
of the police. Not the slightest suspicion attached to 
John Sims. He, with his booty, took passage on a 
coasting vessel for Havre. And from Havre he sailed 
for New York. On reaching the great American 
metropolis he took rooms at a first-class hotel, register- 
ing himself as Captain Desparde. Then he sallied 
forth to present his stolen letters of introduction. One 
of the first letters he presented was from a gentleman 
in the north of England, by the name of — of — Just 
let me have that pamphlet a moment, Mr. Adams,^ for I 
really cannot recall the name just at present ; but it is 
in the book.” 

Valdimir handed it over. 

“ Ah, thank you. Yes, here it is,” said La Motte, 
turning over the pages and stopping at one. “ A gentle- 
man of the name of Coyle— Christopher Coyle, Esq , of 
Caveland, to his brother, Donald Coyle, banker, New 
York. That was it. Mr. Adams ! Bless my soul, sir ! 
you are ill ! Jov^e ! I hope you haven’t got the fever !” 
cried La Motte, who, in returning the pamphlet to Val- 
dimir, was shocked to perceive the extreme agitation 
of the young man. 

“ No, no, no ! go on !” exclaimed the latter, urgently. 

“Yes, but §ee here, you know ! This is not a-going 


DAWNING DAT. 


83 


to do ! You are shaking like an ague ! It always 
comes on with an ague ! Let me try to get out to the 
next door and have the people send for the doctor for 
you ! I could do that much for the man who has nursed 
me through my illness,” remonstrated La Motte. 

“ No, no, no ! I assure you I am not ill, or in danger 
of being ill — in body, at least ! It is the surprise — the 
shock ! You must know that Mr. Coyle of Caveland is 
an old and intimate friend of my family,” said Valdimir, 
feeling that some explanation of his emotion must be 
made before La Motte could be induced to go on with 
his story. 

“Oh, ah — indeed — yes. By Jove, though, it looks 
like a good many of your friends got mixed up in the 
life and adventures of Johnnie Sims,” said La Motte. 

“ A good many did^" Valdimir acknowledged. 

“ Which, of course, accounts for your anxiety to get 
hold of his confession ! All right.” 

“ And now will you go on with the narrative, Mr. La 
Motte ?” 

“ Of course I will. Well, Sims presented his letters of 
credit — both social and financial — and they were all 
equally honored. It must have been fun for the rogue, 
however, to have Mr. Donald Coyle go with him to the 
banker’s on whom his bills of exchange were drawn, to 
identify him as Captain Valdimir Desparde — for, of 
course, sir, as I told you before, Sims first of all pre- 
sented his letter of introduction from Mr. Coyle of 
Caveland to Mr. Donald Coyle of Wall street, who 
received his brother’s young friend with the greatest 
cordiality, and offered every service in his power — the 
hospitality of his home, among other favors.” 

As La Motte spoke, day seemed to be dawning in the 
long, dark night of the young exile’s despair, and to 


84 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


grow lighter and brighter with every moment and 
every word. 

“Well, Mr. Adams, John Sims, ‘ Captain Desparde,’ 
as he called himself, became a frequent visitor at Mr. 
Donald Coyle’s house. That gentleman had ‘ one fair 
daughter and no more.’ Why should we tell the story 
that is as old as that of Eve and the serpent ? The 
dark, brilliant Creole fell in love with the fair English 
girl, or with her fortune, or with both. He wooed her 
very much as another dark gentleman wooed his love 
— by telling her hair-raising, blood-curding, marrow- 
freezing stories, and making himself the hero of them 
all ! He told her romances about his maternal grand- 
father, the Polish Prince Valdimir Zarinski, and him- 
self in the fights for freedom — 

‘ Where they all, side by side, had striven 
And o’er the dead their coursers driven,' 

until the girl’s head was turned completely, and she 
reciprocated his passion, and gave him leave to ‘ speak 
to pa.’ Mr. Coyle made no serious objection to the mar- 
riage, but some little difficulty about the settlements, 
requiring also to see some authenticated statements of 
Captain Desparde’s estate, or prospects, or means of 
supporting a wife, outside of his pay in the army, which 
the old man declared to be insufficient — difficulties 
which the impatient young couple cut short by an elope- 
ment !“ 

“ So this John Sims really married a Miss Coyle ?” 
said Valdimir Desparde, “ with the sigh of a great deliv- 
erance.” 

“ Yes, he actually married a Miss Coyle ! Poor, 
unfortunate girl ! After the runaway marriage the 
young couple went to the old man to ask forgiveness. 
They were too late ! The shock of his daughter’s 


DAWNING DAT. 


85 


elopement, coming upon top of other severe troubles, 
was too much for the father to bear. They brought on 
a fit of apoplexy of which he died.” 

“ That must have been a terrible blow to the erring 
daughter,” said Valdimir. 

“ Yes, I should think so. To run away and get 
married, and come immediately back to ask forgiveness, 
and to find her father dead ! It was the first of a series 
of severe penances she had to pay for her mad and fatal 
act !” 

“ You spoke of other troubles that had affected Mr. 
Donald Coyle,” said Valdimir. 

“ Ah, yes ! But they were not known or suspected 
while he lived. After his death it was discovered that 
he was utterly insolvent ! His creditors seized every- 
thing — house, furniture, clothing. His daughter was 
left penniless. When she had got over the first excesses 
of her grief and remorse, she explained to her husband 
that although her father’s fortune was gone, yet she 
was the sole heiress of her uncle, Mr. Christopher Coyle, 
of Caveland, who would have taken care of her if she 
had not been married, and she even proposed to Sims 
to take her over to visit this uncle. But, of course, Sims 
would as soon have jumped into the fire. For to have 
gone to Caveland, where the real Captain Desparde was 
well known, w^ould have been to expose himself as an 
impostor artd subject himself to arrest and prosecution. 
He was even afraid to remain in New York lest some 
traveling Englishman who knew Captain Desparde 
should discover him to be a fraud. He left the city 
with his young wife, and for the next six years they 
traveled from city to city throughout the civilized 
world, where he sometimes went by one name and 
sometimes by another, for he lived by gambling, swin- 
dling, and— stealing. At last, after six years of such 


86 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


adventure, he fetched up at Washington City, where he 
took rooms at a good hotel, and registered himself and 
party as ‘Captain Desparde, wife, and two children.’ 
Here he gambled, and won money, and lived in style, 
though not in the best company, for he was known as a 
gambler, and suspected as an adventurer.” 

“ It was there, I have heard, that his Nemesis met 
him,” said Valdimir. 

“ Yes, sir ; it was in Washington City that his Nem- 
esis met him, in the form of our member from his 
master’s district. I told 5^011 the fellow had a strain of 
idiocy or mania in him ; if he had not had would he 
ever have ventured to go to Washington City, where it 
was at least possible that some Southerner who had 
known him as a boy might meet and recognize him as a 
fugitive slave ?” 

“ Perhaps his many years’ immunity from suspicion 
or arrest had made him reckless. Perhaps also he 
placed too much confidence in the change of his per- 
sonal appearance,” suggested Valdimir. 

“ It may have been so, sir. But as to the change in 
his personal appearance — to be sure, he had grown 
taller and stouter — but a remarkable face like his 
retains its character always, and can never be forgotten, 
or fail to be recognized. This was really what hap- 
pened to him in Washington. Our member met him 
at the faro-table and recognized him at once — having 
known Johnnie from childhood up to his thirteenth 
year, and seen him almost daily in the interim — and 
what is more, he saw that Sims had also recognized 
him, and trembled. But mark you, sir, how well our 
member — Mr. Dubourg — acted his part. He gave no 
sign of recognition, but treated ‘Captain Desparde’ 
with all the respect he would have paid to any other 
gentleman whom he had socially met. But mark you 


DAWNING DAT. 


87 


again ! That very night a letter went off to Louisiana 
to warn Mr. Eugene Millerue that his fugitive slave, 
John Sims, was then in Washington, and a detective 
was employed by Dubourg in the interests of his friend, 
to keep sight of ‘ Captain Desparde !’ ” 

“ Who fled, of course/’ 

“ Oh, you may safely swear that ! He was not 
deceived by the fair politeness of his master’s old 
neighbor, whom he knew so well. He was not thrown 
off his guard by bows and smiles. He stood ‘ not on 
the order of’ his going, but went ‘at once.’ He left 
wife and children behind him, and started for New 
York that night, probably intending to catch a steamer 
for Liverpool. However, fate, or his luck, had turned, 
or something was amiss with his destinies. On the 
train he was taken suddenly ill — so ill, that when it 
reached the Baltimore station he had to be lifted from 
the cars and conveyed to a hospital, followed by the 
detective, in plain clothes, who had ‘ shadowed ’ him 
from Washington. He was virtually a prisoner from 
that moment. He was very ill with malarial fever for 
three weeks, watched over by the detective, who 
remained in the neighborhood, in the pay of Dubourg, 
and visited the patient every day as a friend. His wife 
was not notified of his condition. The man himself did 
not desire it. He was flying for freedom, or intending 
to do so, as soon as he should be able to go, and he 
could not be encumbered with wife or children, so he 
did not ask that she should be told of his illness. Nor 
did Mr. Dubourg think it at all proper that anything 
should be said to her on the subject. He had seen her 
at the hotel. He told all about it when he got home. 
He had seen that she was well educated and lady-like, 
and was told that she was English by birth. He 
believed that she had been trepanned into this degrad- 


88 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


ing marriage, and he judged, under the circumstances, 
that the sooner she lost all trace of this man the better 
it would be for herself and her unfortunate children. 
So he would not have her notified of that which was 
known only to himself and the detective.” 

“ It was a difficult question to decide,” said Val- 
dimir. 

“ It would be to you^ sir, but it was not to him. He 
considered the marriage unnatural and monstrous, and 
the lady a victim of a hideous wrong ! Well, sir, at 
the end of four weeks, just when John Sims was pre- 
paring to renew his flight, officers sent by his master 
arrived at Baltimore, armed with authority to arrest 
John Sims, alias Valdimir Desparde, as a fugitive slave, 
and convey him back to Louisiana. Oh ! but there 
was a desperate scene !” 

“ It must have been,” assented Desparde. 

“ Why, Mr. Adams, he utterly denied that he was 
John Sims, or a slave, ora native of Louisiana ; claimed 
that he was a gentleman, descended from Polish princes 
and English nobles, an officer in the British army and 
then on his travels through the United States; said 
that he had never heard of John Sims or of Mr. Eugene 
Millerue in his life ! He threatened the officers with 
prosecution for false arrest ; threatened the authorities 
with the interference of the British minister ; threat- 
ened the country with a war with England for the 
audacity of attempting to enslave a British subject ! 
Talked like an outraged prince !” 

“ All of which was to be expected,” said Valdimir. 

“ But all of which was in vain,” continued La Motte. 
“ Mr. Millerue had sent men who were able to identify 
Sims to the satisfaction of the State authorities, and he 
was delivered over to the officers. Then a very cruel 
scene ensued. Feeble as the man was from his long 


dawning day. 


89 


illness, he made a desperate resistance and was only 
overpowered by main force, and then handcuffed like a 
criminal and taken away.” 

“ Sims was a lawless adventurer, no doubt ; but it 
was not upon that account he was taken, but on account 
of his being a fugitive slave, which makes all this seem 
very terrible to me — an Englishman,” said Valdimir. 

“ No doubt it does, sir.” 

“ Excuse me for interrupting you. Pray proceed.” 

“ Well, Mr. Adams, they took Sims back to Louisiana 
and lodged him in jail in New Orleans, where — he 
being more dead than alive — they took off his hand- 
cuffs, and they sent for his master, Mr. Eugene Mille- 
rue. And now, sir, comes the most revolting part of 
the story.” 

“ The murder,” muttered Valdimir. 

“ Yes, vSir, the murder. It happened in this way : Mr. 
Eugene Millerue came up from the plantation to take 
his slave, whom he found ill on a pallet in the prison- 
cell at New Orleans. He stood over him, pitiless, cruel, 
sneering. He taunted him with his assumed position 
and his real one ; asked him how a fine gentleman of 
his epicurean habits could reconcile himself to labor in 
the cotton fields under a slave-driver. Now, Mr. 
Adams, I should explain here that the turnkey who had 
opened the cell, and who stood within the door, was the 
eye and ear witness to this interview.” 

“ Yes, go on.” 

“ Well, sir, Sims was silent, sullen, and immovable. 
Then the master asked other taunting and exasperat- 
ing questions of the fallen and humiliated wretch, 
whose only refuge was in continued silence. Eugene 
Millerue, I must say it, had the temper of a demon ! 
He was determined to make Sims speak, and finally he 
threatened the man with the lash ! Then Sims sud- 


90 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


denly raised himself from his pallet in a sitting posi- 
tion, and looked around as if in search of some weapon, 
but saw none. Millerue, who seemed to divine his 
thoughts, laughed scornfully as he repeated that the 
overseer’s whip should soon reduce him to submission. 
Then it was that Sims spoke for the first time and 
said : 

“ ‘ Who dares to degrade me with a blow shall die 
for it !’ 

“‘Ah, indeed! Is it so?’ Millerue retorted, and 
raising the riding-whip he carried in his hand, he 
brought it down across the face of Sims with a sharp 
force that laid the flesh open. 

“ Then, with the strength and swiftness of frenzy, 
Sims sprang from his pallet, seized the heavy stone 
pitcher of water that stood by his side and struck it 
down upon his master’s head with a mighty force that 
crushed in the skull and laid him lifeless on the floor ! 
It was the spasmodic effort of a man goaded to mad- 
ness ! When the sudden deed was done, the murderer 
reeled back and fell upon his pallet in a swoon. All 
this was the work of an instant, done and over before 
the turnkey could spring into the cell and cock his 
pistol !’’ 

Oh, horrible r muttered Valdimir Desparde, cover- 
ing his eyes as if to shut out the vision. 

“Well, sir, the alarm was given ! The whole place 
was in arms ! The still swooning quadroon was hand- 
cuffed and carried to a stronger cell in the ‘ murderers* 
row.’ The body of Millerue was conveyed to the warden’s 
office and the coroner was summoned. You know what 
followed ! Sims was brought to trial, convicted and 
executed for the murder of his master.’’ 

“ And — the unfortunate wife and children ?’’ inquired 
Valdimir. 


MORE DISCOVERIES. 


91 


“ I thought I had told you of their fate, sir. Soon 
after they were left destitute by the attempted flight 
of Sims, they were turned out of their hotel, and their 
luggage seized for arrears of board. By the sale of ' 
her few remaining jewels the unhappy wife sustained 
herself and children for a little while in cheap lodgings ; 
but the news of her husband’s real position and tragic 
fate reached her through the newspapers and gave her 
her death-blow. She fell into extreme illness and 
utter destitution. Then it was that her attending 
physician, I think at her request, wrote over to old Mr. 
Coyle of Caveland, who within a month after came in 
person to the rescue of his niece, made her comfortable 
while she lived, and after her death, took her boy and 
girl back with him to England.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MORE DISCOVERIES. 

Though looks and words 
By the strong mastery of his practiced will 
Are overruled, the mounting blood betrays 
An impulse in its secret spring, too deep 
For his control. Southey. 

Joy? That word does not express it. No guiltless 
martyr of circumstantial evidence, unjustly convicted 
and condemned to death, ever felt such deep rapture on 
being at once vindicated aiid released as did Valdimir 
Desparde on being delivered from the imputed dis- 
honor, worse to him than any other fate. 

Yet through this deep rapture, suddenly sped a shaft 


92 


BRANDON OOTLE’s WIFE. 


of pain This was the thought of his lost love. The dis- 
covery had come too late to effect a reconciliation and 
re-union with her ! He would go back to England, and 
vindicate himself to the satisfaction of every one, but — 
he could not recover his lost bride ! He had forsaken 
her on her wedding morning, and without giving any 
explanation of his act ! And she had naturally and 
properly resented his conduct by casting him forth from 
her thoughts and accepting the attentions of a worthier 
man, approved by her grandparents. Thus she was 
lost to him forever I 

As he thought of this, how much he deplored his 
fatal reticence with his friends as to the cause of his 
flight ! 

But it was too late now for such regrets ! 

He had kept the secret from them for their sakes ! 
He had even allowed his betrothed bride to think evil 
of him, that she might the sooner forget him and re- 
cover her peace of mind. 

This he had supposed to be the generous and noble 
course of conduct. And in this course he had been en- 
couraged by his only confidant, Brandon Coyle ! 

Brandon Coyle ? 

At the recollection of that name a new difficult}^ oc- 
curred to the mind of Desparde. Had Brandon Coyle — 
had that cherished and trusted friend of many years 
consciously deceived and betrayed him } Or — had 
Coyle, being in ignorance of his own and his sister’s 
early history, been also misled by the strong circum- 
stantial evidence that seemed to fix the shame on Des- 
parde and which had even convinced the last-mentioned 
unhappy man of the fact ? 

He could not tell. 

That Brandon and Aspirita Coyle were the children 
of that debasing marriage between the quadroon and 


MORE DISCOVERIES. 


93 


the English girl was now reduced to a certainty ; but 
how much Brandon knew or suspected of the fact was 
an uncertainty. If he, Brandon, knew the secret of his 
own origin, and — favored by the strong circumstantial 
evidence — had sought to shift the shame upon the 
shoulders of his stainless friend, to deprive the latter of 
home, country, friends, bride, honor, everything that 
man holds dear — then was Brandon Coyle a villain of 
the basest order, worthy of his degraded parentage. 

But if he was nott If he had been kept in the same 
ignorance of his early life as Valdimir Desparde had 
been kept in concerning his own ? If he had been really 
deceived by the strong circumstantial evidence into 
believing the apparent facts, as he had represented 
them to Desparde ? 

Then indeed was Coyle to be deeply compassionated. 

And then and there the magnanimous man, the true 
gentleman, resolved upon one course — that in vindicat- 
ing himself, he would guard, if possible, the secret of 
Brandon Coyle, at least until he should have proof that 
Coyle knew the truth, yet consciously and intentionally 
deceived him. 

That same night when his patient was asleep, Des- 
parde wrote the first letter to England under his real 
name since his flight. It was addressed to Lord Beau- 
devere and announced the young man’s intended 
return by an early steamer, to vindicate his own course 
and to re-establish himself in the esteem of his friends. 

Two days after this he left his now recovered patient 
in the care of the landlady, drew his balance out of 
bank and left for New York, en route for London. 

He was leaving the breakfast-room of his hotel, on 
the morning after his arrival, and was approaching the 
hat-stand in the hall to recover his hat, gloves, and so 
forth, before walking out, when he perceived at the 


94 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


news-stand beside it, a gentleman whose form and air 
seemed familiar to him. The gentleman had his back 
turned, however, and was bending down turning over 
the leaves of a newspaper. 

Valdimir Desparde stopped suddenly and gazed at 
the stranger, who presently lifted up his head and 
looked around. 

There was an instantaneous mutual recognition, and 
the two men sprang eagerly towards each other with 
outstretched hands and delighted eyes, like friends 
meeting on a foreign shore, as they simultaneously 
exclaimed : 

“ Fleming !” 

“ Desparde !” 

“ You over here !” 

“ Deuced glad to see you, old fellow !” 

“ When did you leave the old country, Fleming ?” 

“ Oh, dear, ages ago ! or it seems ages, to me ! I left 
England about the middle of last August ! This is the 
middle of November ! Only three months since after 
all ! Yet it seems to me three years ! I have ‘ done ’ 
the great Western world in this time, don’t you know ? 
Seen the Rocky Mountains, the vast prairies, the Father 
of Waters, the great lakes, Niagara Falls, the St. Law- 
rence, the Thousand Islands, Tammany Hall, the State 
House in Philadelphia, the Capitol in Washington, and 
— there, I think that completes the list ; but, then, one 
has to go over so much ground to see so little in this 
new country.” 

“ The middle of August ! Then it is some time since 
you left home ; but you have heard, in the interval ?” 
inquired Desparde. 

“ Oh, yes, I hear every week. They are all well, I 
think — at least all except the two in whom I feel a par- 
ticular interest.” 


MORE DISCOVERIES. 


95 


“ And who are they ?” inquired Desparde. “ But 
stop !” he exclaimed. “ We are in rather a public place 
for a conversation. Have you had breakfast ?” 

“ Yes, just left the table.” 

“ Are you disengaged ?” 

Quite at your service, or at that of anybody else 
who has more business with me than I have with all 
the world.” 

“ Then perhaps you will come with me to my room, 
where we can talk freely.” 

” Certainly ! Lead the way !” said Fleming. 

The two young men left the hall and ascended to the 
bachelor’s den on the fourth floor, where the clerk of 
the house had thrust the future peer of “ England’s 
realm.” 

“ Well, Desparde,” began Adrian Fleming, as soon as 
they were seated, “how is it with yourself ? You have 
been in this country nearly six months ! How is it 
with you and with the wife and bairns ?” 

“ Wife and bairns !” echoed Desparde, elevating his ' 
eyebrows. 

“ Yes, certainly ! You are married, are you not?” 
demanded Adrian, 

“ Married ? No, no more than yourself !'* promptly 
replied Valdimir. 

Adrian Fleming laughed harshly at the comparison 
Desparde had ignorantly made. 

“ If you are married no more than myself — well, no 
matter. But come now, old fellow, between friends, 
what have you done with the bonny Scotch lassie and 
bairnie who accompanied you in your flight?” inquired 
Flemingfln a chaffing tone. 

“ Scotch lassie ? Bairnie ?” repeated Desparde, in 
perplexity. “ Upon my honor, Fleming, I do not know 
to what you refer ?” 


96 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


“Oh ! then,” replied Adrian, in a more serious tone, 
“ I refer, of course, to the rumor of your marriage to a 
young woman of humble parentage as the true cause 
of your leaving England so suddenly.” 

“ What !” exclaimed the young exile. “ Was such a 
rumor as that current in England ?” 

“ Most certainly it was circulated and accepted there 
as the truth. But I infer from your tone and manner 
that it was false ?” 

“ As false as anything ever invented by the father of 
lies ! Who set this report in circulation, may I ask ?” 
demanded Desparde. 

“ I — think it was your friend, Mr. Brandon Coyle,” 
replied Fleming after some hesitation. 

“ Brandon Coyle !” exclaimed Valdimir Desparde. 
“ Impossible ! He was in my confidence. He knew the 
true reason of my flight. He knew it from the first. 
He knew it was not the reason that you say rumor has 
assigned.” 

Indeed ! Then I must have been mistaken in sup- 
posing it to have been Coyle,” answered Fleming, 
slowly and thoughtfully. 

“ But,” gravely inquired Desparde, “ what could have 
suggested to you the idea that Brandon Coyle started 
this false report ?” 

“ Now that is just what I am trying to remember. 
But it was three months ago, you see. Ah ! now 1 have 
it ! I had heard the rumor without having heard its 
origin, until I reached London on my way to Southamp- 
ton to take the steamer. I stopped a few days in Lon- 
don, and while there called on the Coyles, who were 
then in town. 1 also invited Miss Coyle to, ride with 
me in the Park. And in the course of that ride the 
subject of your absence came up, and Miss Coyle told 
me that her brother had received a letter from you, con- 


MOKE DISCOVERIES. 


' 97 

fessing your marriage to a lassie of low degree, and 
giving that as a reason for your sudden self-expatria- 
tion.” 

“ Aspirita Coyle told you that?'* fiercely demanded 
Valdimir. 

“ She, did indeed. Moreover, slie added that she had 
coaxed the letter from her brother’s possession and 
inclosed it in one from herself to Lady Arielle Montjoie, 
who was then at Skol. She said that she had done this 
from a sense of duty.” 

Valdimir Desparde uttered a fierce, half- suppressed 
oath, and made a gesture of desperation. 

“ I must infer, then, that you never wrote such a let- 
ter ?” 

‘‘ Never ! If such a letter as you describe was in- 
closed to Lady Arielle, it was a base forgery !” 

“ Who could have been the forger ?” mused Fleming. 

Ah, who?" bitterly inquired Desparde, as the con- 
viction of his false friend’s duplicity settled on his mind. 
“I tell you, Fleming, that I have been not only the vic- 
tim of overwhelming circumstantial evidence, but of 
villainous machinations by those who have attempted to 
turn that evidence to their own profit by my ruin.” 

“ ‘Circumstantial evidence ?’ circumstantial evi- 

dence, for Heaven’s sake ?” demanded Fleming, slowly, 
and with great perplexity. 

“ If you have time to listen I will tell you. My story 
will explain my sudden and seemingly inexcusable de- 
parture from England on the very eve of my marriage ; 
but I warn you that it is not a short one. Have you 
time for it ?” 

“‘Time for it !’ ” echoed Fleming. “Certainly I have. 
If I had not I would make time. Go on.” 

As briefly as was practicable, however, Valdimir Des- 
parde told the story of the cruel deception that had been 


98 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIPE. 


practiced upon him, with all the circumstantial evidence 
that had supported the imposition, and that had driven 
him a fugitive from his native land. 

“ By Jove, Desparde ! What I wonder at the most, in 
all this wonderful story, is just yourself T exclaimed 
Adrian Fleming, staring at his companion. 

“But why at me ?” inquired the latter, in perplexity. 

“ Ah, Desparde ! You have been the victim of your 
own easy credulity, no less than of circumstantial evi- 
dence manipulated by designing villainy.” 

“ Yet there is something mysterious, and therefore 
suspicious, in the guarded secrecy that surrounds the 
early life of my sister and myself,” said Valdimir, sadly. 

“ Well ! but old Beaudevere, who is the very soul of 
honor and chivalry — a very Don Quixote of England in 
the nineteenth century — told you himself that no re- 
proach to any of you lurked in this secrecy — and there- 
fore, of course, there cannot be.” 

“ No, I trust and believe that there cannot be any 
reproach, since he declares that there is not.” 

“ But for all that I should insist upon having that 
secret out of the old gentleman before effecting a recon- 
ciliation with Lady Arielle,” added Fleming. 

“ ‘ A reconciliation with Lady Arielle ?’ ” mournfully 
echoed Valdimir. “ Have I not told you that she is lost 
to me forever ?” 

“ Stuff and nonsense ! I don’t believe it !” roughly 
replied Fleming. 

“ But — but she is on the very brink of marriage with 
a gentleman — ” 

“ ‘ Every way worthy of her ladyship and highly ap- 
proved by her grandparents !’ Is not that the formula?” 

“Yes, or something like it,” sighed Valdimir. 

“ What is your authority for that story ?” abruptly 
demanded Fleming. 


MOKE DISCOVERIES. 


99 


Desparde started. Brandon Coyle was his authority 
for that story, and after a short hesitation he said so. 

“ Stuff and nonsense. Arielle will forgive you as 
soon as she hears 3’our explanation, if she has not for- 
given you already, which is the more likely ! Why, 
man ! when I left England three months ago she was 
reported to be in a decline — ” 

Here Valdimir started and changed color. 

“ Do not be alarmed I You are the fortunate phj^si- 
cian destined to restore her to health ! She was actually 
pining away and dying for love, like an old-fashioned 
maiden in an old fashioned ballad ! You can soon cure 
her of that malady,” laughed young Fleming. 

“ Is that true ? Oh, Heaven, can that be true ?” mut- 
tered Valdimir, in low, earnest tones. 

“ I tell you that it is true, and I hope I am better 
authorit3" than Mr. Brandon Coyle ! Desparde, when 
do you sail for England ?” 

“ To-morrow, by the Colorado. And you, Fleming 

“ To England ? Ah, Heaven knows ! I sail by the 
first Southern Pacific steamer for Rio Janeiro. I shall 
not probably see the ‘ cliffs of Albion ’ for many years 
to come,” answered Adrian. 

“ But the fair Antoinette ? How will she like this 
long absence ?” inquired Desparde, who, at the time of 
his own flight from England, believed as many others 
did, that Adrian was the accepted suitor of Miss Delo- 
raine, of Deloraine Park. 

The face of young Fleming suddenly clouded over. 

“ Ah ! do not mention her !” he said, with a deep 

“How, is the engagement broken off?” Valdimir. 
impulsively inquired, and then he immediately regretted 
his hasty question. 

“The engagement never existed, except in the imag- 


100 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


ination of gossips. It is worse than that, Desparde ! 
Antoinette Deloraine, the young and beautiful heiress 
of an estate worth fifty thousand pounds a year, with 
everything to make this life delightful and attractive, is 
dying—” 

“ Dying ! Gracious Heaven, Fleming, how you shock 
me ! Dying !” 

“Yes ; slowly, but surely I" 

“ Of what malady, for mercy’s sake T' 

“ Of that hereditary decline that carried off her 
mother and her father ! How could she escape It is a 
painful subject, Desparde ! But you may remember 
that when you asked me if all our friends in England 
were in good health when I last heard from home, I 
told you that all were well except two in whom I felt 
the greatest interest, meaning Lady Arielle Montjoie 
and Miss Deloraine. But you can be consoled in know- 
ing that Lady Arielle’s malady is not of the fatal type 
of her friend’s illness.” 

After this the friends walked out together and spent 
the forenoon in visiting various public places of inter- 
est about the metropolis. 

The next morning Valdimir embarked on board the 
steamship Colorado, bound for Liverpool. 

Adrian Fleming went with his friend to see him off, 
and secured a promise from him that at an early day 
after his arrival in England he would go down to Flem- 
ing Chase and call upon Sir Adrian and Lady Fleming. 

“ For you know, dear old boy, that no amount of 
letters from their good-for-nothing son will give them 
half so much satisfaction, as a visit from a friend who 
has lately interviewed him,” added the young man. 

Valdimir Desparde gave the required promise, and 
the friends parted five minutes before the ship sailed. 





CHAPTER IX. 

kit’s home. 

Amid the city — 

The great humanity that beats 
Its life along the stony streets, 

Like a strong, unsunned river. 

In a self-made course is ever 
Rolling on, rolling on ! 

She sits and hears it as it rolls — 

That flow of souls. 

Made up of many tones that rise 
Each to each as contraries. 

E. B. Browning. 

While Valdimir Desparde is approaching- the shores 
of England as swiftly as steam can bring him, we must 
return and look up our “ Missing Link.” 

In Church street, Chelsea, London, there is a clean 
and unpretentious house kept by a retired butler and 
cook, who had made money in service, then married, 
and invested their funds in “ furnished lodgings to 
let.” 


[lOl] 


102 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


On a dreary, drizzling day early in December, when 
the London fog and mist made twilight at noon, a neatly 
fitted up front parlor in this house was occupied by 
one person, a handsome blonde woman, tastefully 
attired in a blue silk dress with white lace fichu and 
cuffs, and with her wealth of splendid golden ringlets 
looped up at the back of her head with knots of blue 
ribbons and lace. Sapphires set in pearl and gold 
blazed on her bosom and on her arms ; but the sap- 
phires were not bluer nor brighter than her eyes, the 
pearls no fairer than her. skin, nor the gold more shin- 
ing than her hair. She wore a heavy gold wedding 
ring. 

A regal princess she would seem- until she should 
open her mouth, when she would instantly betray her- 
self to be really a very illiterate and silly peasant 
woman. 

She was seated in a large easy-chair upholstered in 
pale buff satin, her well-shaped, black velvet slippered 
foot rested on a hassock, and her elbow on the sill of 
the front window, from which she gazed out upon the 
lowering sky, drizzling mist, and the wet tops of um- 
brellas continually passing along the sidewalks. 

She was idle, lonely, sullen and miserable. She was 
utterly weary and disgusted with being a lady. She 
had no culture, no accomplishments, and no compan- 
ions. She could not occupy herself with music, draw- 
ing, fine needle-work, reading, or even with gossip. 
She would gladly have gone down into the kitchen, 
tucked up her finery, borrowed an apron, and helped 
Mossop, the hard-working maid-of all-work, to wash the 
dishes»or pare the potatoes ; but as such a proceeding- 
might have lowered her in the eyes of her landlady, the 
prim Mrs. Perkins, she refrained, and sat in wretched 
solitude and idleness. 


kit’s home. 


103 


Now, how came our poor Missing Link to this miser- 
able pass, exchanging her lovely cottage home in the 
beautiful lake and mountain country for this dreary 
lodging-house 

“ In the crowded city’s horrible street ?” 

To explain this we must go back a few weeks to the 
night of Kit’s sudden disappearance from “ The Birds' 
Nest.” 

It may be remembered that Kit had been moody, 
sullen, and intractable from the time she had spelt out 
the meaning of that paragraph in the Fashionable Intelli- 
gence which had announced the marriage engagement 
of the Lady Arielle Montjoie and Mr. Brandon Coyle. 

She was not at all convinced by “ Mistress Net’s ” 
earnest and indignant denial of the truth of the state- 
ment, and even the bare possibility of the event it pre- 
tended to announce. 

The matter troubled her. She brooded over it. 
Then she secretly wrote that strange, ill-spelled letter 
to the Lady Arielle Montjoie, warning her ladyship 
against contracting marriage with Mr. Brandon Coyle, 
and declaring her own prior and exclusive claim as the 
wife of the gentleman in question. This letter she put 
in her pocket and took to church with her on the fol- 
lowing Sunday morning, and, after the service, she 
secretly gave it to her youngest brother, with a half- 
crown to secure his fidelity, and with instructions to 
take it to Castle Montjoie and deliver it with his own 
hands to the Lady Arielle. But it was a week before 
the boy could get a half-holiday from his place in the 
stables of the Dolphin Inn to convey the letter to its 
destination, and even then he was not allowed access 
to the presence of Lady Arielle, but was necessitated 
to send the letter up by the hands of her ladyship’s 


104 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


maid. However, the epistolary bombshell reached her 
in safety, and caused the explosion elsewhere recorded. 

But before that fatal or fortunate explosion the Miss- 
ing Link was lost. 

It will be recollected that on the evening of her dis- 
appearance the unfortunate girl had seemed unusually 
depressed ; that she had begged to be allowed to put 
the babies to bed, for that night ; she had stayed with 
them until they went to sleep, and had then come into the 
parlor and seated herself on a low foot stool in the chim- 
ney-corner and had asked to be permitted to sit there 
until her mistress should retire ; how Net had kindly 
endeavored to win from her the cause of her depression, 
but could get no satisfaction from Kit beyond the 
senseless repetition of the nursery refrain : 

“ ‘ Heavy, heavy hangs over my poor head !’ ” 

Nor was this any evasion on the part of the poor 
girl. Kit had really nothing to tell that her mistress 
did not already know. 

She could not herself give any reason for her despair. 
Kit was suffering under a presentiment of evil and 
could not define her position better than by a repetition 
of the old nursery refrain. 

She had refused to make her bed in her mistress’s 
room that night, as she had always refused before. 

But when, at last. Net dismissed her maid and went 
to bed, Kit did not ascend to her own little room. 

She fastened up the house and sat down over the 
kitchen fire, with her feet on the iron hearth, her 
elbows on her knees, and her head bowed upon the 
palms of her hands. 

She was suffering under such fearful despondency 
that she dared not go to the solitude of her own room. 
Here, in the kitchen, she was at least within the call of 
Mistress Net and the children. 


kit’s home. 


105 


Kit sat there a long time. She heard the clock 
strike eleven — twelve — one ; but still she dreaded to 
retire to bed. 

It was only a few minutes after one, when she was 
startled by a low pecking at the window — no louder, 
indeed, than the sound that might have been made by 
the beak of some small bird ; , yet Kit started and stared 
with an impulse of flight, but was immediately arrested 
by the sound of a familiar voice. 

“ Don’t be frightened ! It is I. Open the door !” 
whispered the voice through a crevice of the window. 

Kit recognized the tones of Brandon Coyle, and 
impulsively, without a thought, she sprang up and 
obeyed. 

“ All abed and sound asleep, I suppose said the 
man, as he stepped into the kitchen and closed the door. 

By this time the girl had recovered the possession of 
her senses, and so she answered ; 

“ Yes, but yo hev no roight to kem here until 
to-morrow ! Yo promised Mistress Net yo wadn’t kem 
agen until yo kem to-morrow to tek me away as yor 
woife, so yo did !” 

“ Hush ! don’t speak so loud, girl ! That woman may 
be lying awake and may hear you, and come out here, 
and I do not want to see her again.” 

“ Yo hed no business to kem, then ! It’s her house, 
and yo promised her not to kem until yo kem to- 
morrow to tek me away as yor woife and mek a leddy 
o’ me !” 

“ Well, but, Kit, suppo.se, my beauty, that I do better 
than my promise, and instead of waiting until to- 
morrow, I come to-night to take you away as my 
wife ?” demanded Coyle, with a sly smile. 

“ Oh !” exclaimed the surprised and delighted idiot. 
“ Is thet it ? Then Oi ’ll call Mistress Net.” 


106 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


‘‘ Didn’t I tell you that I do not want to meet that 
woman ? Just remember how she treated me the last 
time we met. Do you suppose it would be so pleasant 
for me to meet her? No, Kit. I come now to take 
you away and introduce you at once to my uncle and 
my sister as my wife, Mrs. Brandon Coyle. Come, now. 
You may take your wedding-ring from the ribbon 
around your neck and put it on your finger, where it 
rightly belongs, and you never need to hide it again. 
Come, now. Get your bonnet and shawl and come 
along. You needn’t take any luggage. Your plain 
clothes would not do to wear at Caveland in the country, 
nor at Coyle House in town. Come, my girl. Hurry !” 

“ But — but — but — ” stammered the perplexed and 
bewildered simpleton — mayn’t Oi tek leave o’ Mis- 
tress Net and the babies 

“What? Wake them up this time of night ? No. 
Besides, I tell you I won’t meet that woman to be 
insulted by her again. You know she insulted me. You 
can write to her and explain. Come, come ; get your 
things on.’’ 

“ But — but — she will be mazed ! She will be frighted ! 
And it will be breking my wurrud to her I Oi promised 
not to see yo till to-morrow, Friday, when yo wud tek 
me away as yor woife,’’ expostulated Kit. 

“ Nonsense ! It is to-morrow now. It is Friday now 
— it is after one o’clock in the morning,” exclaimed 
Coyle. 

“ Oh, so it is !” acknowledged Kit. 

“ So you see I keep my promise to come and take 
you home to my family to-day,” said Coyle, triumph- 
antly. 

“ So yo do,” admitted Kit ; “ but is it no an unco airly 
hour to tek me home ? They ’ll noo be oot o’ their beds 
for half a day yet !” 


kit’s home. 


107 


Why, do you think they are at Caveland ?” 

“ Ay ! where else wud they be ?” 

“ They are at Coyle House, Westbourne Terrace, 
London— a splendid place, Kit. And we shall go up to 
town by the two o’clock express, and arrive about eight, 
in time to reach Coyle House and dress to meet the 
family at breakfast. But you must hurry, I say, or we 
shall miss the train.” 

“ Oh ! if Oi could — if you wud let me — just say ged- 
bye to Mistress Net and the childer !” 

” I cannot ! 1 will not ! And look here. Kit. Take 
your choice. Come along with me now^ or never. If I 
go away alone this morning, I will never come back 
again to ask you a second time. Now, or never !” 
exclaimed Coyle, sternly. 

“ Ou, then, if thet ’s the case it ’s noo T replied the 
unlucky girl ; who then hurried up to her room, put on 
her hat and shawl, and came down to join her worst 
enemy. 

“ Here, wrap this closely around your face and head,” 
said Coyle, drawing from his pocket a thick gray vail. 

“ Oi never wore a kivering over moy face in all moy 
loife,” objected Kit. 

“ I know it, but you will have to wear this,” persisted 
Coyle, clumsily tying the vail over the girl’s hat so as 
to conceal her features. 

Then they left the cottage together by the back door, 
that fastened itself after them with a spring. 

“ Ou, Gude forgie me, ef Oi had only bid ged-bye to 
Mistress Net and the bairns !” sighed Kit, when she 
found herself walking briskly down the lane by the 
side of Brandon Coyle.. 

“ You can write from London and explain,” replied 
the latter. 


108 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


“And a fist Oi mek o’ writing !” exclaimed the girl. 

At the entrance of the lane they found a post-chaise 
and a pair of horses waiting. 

Brandon Coyle put his companion in this and took a 
seat by her side. 

“ Back to Keighly !” he ordered the driver, as the 
latter closed the door. 

The man mounted to his seat and drove off. 

“ Keighly ? Where’s Keighly ? Annot yo going to 
Miston Station to tek the train ?” inquired Kit. 

“ No ! the two o’clock London express does not stop 
at Miston. We must go on to Keighly,” said Brandon 
Coyle, 

But in fact his true motive in going on to the next 
station and taking this special train was to cover up his 
tracks in this course. 

He himself, and even Kit, were too well known in 
Miston for them to venture to get on the train at that 
station, unless his intentions towards the unfortunate 
girl had been perfectly honest. 

For this reason, early in that afternoon he had gone by 
train to Keighly and hired this post-chaise from the 
White Bear Tavern, and had come over to Miston 
Church Lane to take Kit away. He had no sort of 
doubt that his personal influence and power over the 
poor simpleton would induce her to go with him. He 
had only to catch her when she was alone. He had, 
therefore, timed himself so well that it was after mid- 
night when he arrived at Church Lane. 

He had left the post-chase at the entrance of the lane 
and had walked down to the cottage. 

He had expected to find that Kit, as well as all the 
rest of the family, had retired, and that he would have 


kit’s home. 


109 


to awaken her, as he had been once accustomed to do 
by throwing up pebbles at her window panes. 

But he found to his surprise that there was a light in 
the kitchen. 

Going around by the back way and peering through 
a crevice in the window shutter, he had seen Kit sitting 
moodily, as we have described her, over the kitchen 
fire. He had succeeded in attracting her attention 
without disturbing the rest of the little household, as 
we have seen . 

His plan had been perfectly successful, and now he 
had the wretched girl in his power to carry her whither 
he should please. 

Fifty minutes’ rapid drive brought them to the 
Keighly Station, where Brandon Coyle had just time to 
pay and discharge the post-chaise and purchase tickets 
for himself and his companion when the train for Lon- 
don thundered into the station. 

He secured a coupe for himself and his companion, 
placed her in it, and seated himself by her side just as 
the train started. It was the express, and had only 
stopped thirty seconds. 

Kit was terribly flurried and frightened. She had 
never been on a train before in all her life, and the 
rapid speed of the flying express seemed to whirl away 
her breath and her senses. It was sometime before she 
could get accustomed to the motion, or be made to 
believe that if she let go the straps on the side of the 
carriage she should not be shaken to death. 

But there came a reaction, and the next effect of the 
speed upon the nerves of the Missing Link was to 
swing her into a profound sleep that lasted many hours, 
giving her companion an opportunity to smoke and 
doze until the train reached Peterborough, where it 
Stopped for breakfast. 


110 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


Brandon Coyle awoke his slumbering and stupefied 
companion and took her out to breakfast in the refresh- 
ment-room of the station. 

There he was half amused, half shocked at the enor- 
mous meal of pork steaks, eggs, muffins, marmalade, 
coffee and milk consumed by the handsome animal. 

After breakfast they returned to their coupe, and the 
train started. 


CHAPTER X. 

kit’s days. 

Our waking dreams are fatal ! How she dreamed 
Of things impossible upon this earth ! 

Of joys perpetual, in perpetual change ; 

Of stable pleasures on the shifting scene, 

Eternal sunshine in the skies of life ! 

How richly were her noon-tide trances hung 
With gorgeous tapestries of pictured joys — 

Joy behind joy in endless perspective ! 

Till at Fate’s call * * * + 

Starting she woke to find herself undone ! 

Young. 

The bustle of arrival at Paddington Station startled 
Kit from profound slumber. 

Waking up, she indulged in the long, loud yawn of 
the hard-working, sound sleeper when suddenly aroused. 
Staring around upon the novel scene and coming slcwly 
to her senses, she exclaimed : 

“ Whar upon the face of the yeth be Oi ? ” 

“You are in London. Come, bestir yourself! 
Straighten your hat, arrange your shawl,” answered 


kit’s DATS. 


Ill 


Brandon Coyle, who was beginning to gather up his 
valise, rug, umbrella, and so forth. 

But Kit only stretched her shapely arms out at full 
length and opened her handsome mouth with a yawn 
that threatened to swallow Paddington Station and a 
noise that brought the guard to the door to know if 
anything was amiss. 

“ No !” roughly answered Coyle. “ Only this fool, 
who does not know how to behave herself !” he added 
in a tone so low that it did not even reach Kit’s ears. 
“ Call a cab for me, if you please,” he concluded, 
putting a shilling in the guard’s hand. 

“,Oouw-oooH !” sounded Kit, with a powerful yawn. 

“ Be quiet, can’t you ?” rudely exclaimed Coyle. 

“ No, Oi can’t, then ! I ’m no half awake yet ! Oi ’m 
just as sleepy as a dog !” answered Kit, clapping her 
hand before her red lips and trying to suppress 
another yawn, which, however, broke forth with all the 
more force for the attempt. 

“ You are too intolerably vulgar even for a fish 
wench !” exclaimed Coyle, angrily. 

“ Wull, then, whoy dunnot yo mek a leddy o’ me, then 
Oi wuddunt be voolgar !” retorted Kit. 

“ I fear that would be past my power,” answered the 
man, with a harsh laugh. 

And now as Kit had arranged her disordered dress, 
he helped her to step down from the car to the plat- 
form, where they stood waiting for the cab, which soon 
came up. 

“ To Piccadilly ! I will tell you where to stop !” were 
the directions given to the driver when Coyle had seated 
himself beside his companion in the cab. 

And to Piccadilly they were driven. 

Coyle, regardless of his companion, took out his cigar, 
lighted it and began to smoke. 


112 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


Kit had no suspicion that she was affronted by the 
act. How should she ? She had been brought up in 
tobacco smoke, and had been accustomed to see her 
father, uncles and grandfathers all smoking together in 
one small keeping-room, without having been smothered 
or sickened, and this from the day she was born until 
the day she entered the service of “Mistress Net.” So 
she took no exception to her “ ’usband’s ” smoking. 

She amused herself by staring out of the windows at 
the fine shops and great buildings, and asking what 
this, that or the other thing was. 

At first Coyle took pleasure in imposing on her 
ignorance by giving her absurd answers. 

“ Wots yon ?” inquired Kit, pointing to a great 
theatre. 

“Oh ! that’s St. Peter’s Cathedral. You have heard 
of St. Peter’s in Rome, haven’t you ?” 

“ Oi dunno. Oi ’ve heerd of Rome, though. Be 
Rome in Lunnun ?” 

“ Surely.” 

“ Wot’s thet ?” continued Kit, pointing to a splendid 
bazaar, with white marble facade and many plate- 
glass windows. 

“ The Capitol at Washington. You’ve heard of 
that ?” 

“ Oi hev heerd of Wash’ton. Be Wash’ton in 
Lunnun, too 

“ Of course it is.” 

“ Oi ’m thenking a’ the wurld be in Lunnun toon, 
beant it 

“ Most of it is.” 

“ And wot ’s yon ?” inquired Kit, pointing to a reform- 
atory. 

“ Come, be quiet, I want to finish my cigar,” replied 
Coyle, in a tone that silenced Kit. 


kit’s days. 


113 


Brandon Coyle finished his cigar and threw it away. 

Then he ordered the driver to draw up before an 
imposing looking edifice — Apsley House, the town resi- 
dence of the late Duke of Wellington. 

“ Is that Coyle Hoose, where moy fowk-in-law live ?” 
inquired Kit, staring at the place with an awe-stricken 
appearance. 

“ Yes, that is Coyle House,” replied Brandon, not 
hesitating to lie in order to deceive his simple-minded 
companion. “ That’s Coyle House ; but I must get out 
first and rap to see if any of the servants are up. It is 
very early, you see, and there may be no one stirring 
5"et. I may have to rap some time before I succeed in 
rousing any one.” 

“ Well, noo, I wild rather get oot,” said Kit. 

“ No, no ; it is very damp. The fog has turned to a 
drizzle. You must stay here until I get the door open.” 

“ Very well ; but moind you doan’t slip in the hoose 
and shet the door and leave me oot here. Oi ’ll watch 
yo !” said Kit, who was always distrustful in the wrong 
place. 

With a grating laugh Coyle left the cab and went up 
to the portals of Apsley House and rang. 

A tall footman — looking like a grenadier in regi- 
mentals, except in his powdered head — opened the 
door, and a porter rose from his chair in the hall. 

“ I called to inquire after the duke’s health this 
morning,” said Coyle, in a low and respectful tone. 

“ His grace is better this morning. His grace passed 
a quiet night. Sir Henry Cooper saw his grace at a 
late hour,” answered the porter. 

Brandon Coyle left his card and returned to the cab. 

Poor Kit was already on the step, ready to get down. 

“ Resume your seat — sit down !” exclaimed Coyle, 
in a peremptory tone, seeing Kit hesitate. 


114 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ Beant the fam’ly oop yet ? What slug a-beds they 
must be,” said Kit. 

“ The family are all out of town. Gone down to 
Brighton for my uncle’s health,” said Brandon, as 
he pushed Kit into her seat and placed himself beside 
her. 

“ Now, wot wull yo do ?” inquired the crestfallen 
girl. 

“ Take lodgings until they return,” answered Coyle. 

“ And mek me a leddy ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; to be sure ; make you a lady.” 

“ Where now, sir ?’’ inquired the driver. 

“To Church street, Chelsea,” answered Brandon 
Coyle ; and the cab was in motion again. 

All that little farce of going up and ringing at the 
door of Apsley House had been got up for the decep- 
tion of poor Kit. And the temporary indisposition of 
the great duke — for whose health innumerable callers 
inquired through all the hours of the day — had afforded 
the opportunity. 

Kit never suspected the deception, but she did 
inquire as they drove on towards Chelsea : 

“ Why cannot yo and me go doon to Brighting to 
um there ?” 

“ Because I choose to wait for them here,” replied 
Coyle. 

When they reached Church street, Chelsea, Brandon 
Coyle looked out and directed the driver to draw up 
before a neat red brick house of three stories that stood 
about the middle of the block. 

He was met in the hall by the landlady. 

“ Well, Mrs. Perkins, are our apartments ready ?” 

“ Quite so, sir,” answered the latter. 

Brandon Coyle went back to the cab, helped Kit out, 
and led her into the house, 


kit’s days'*. 


115 


When both had got rid of the railroad dust and cin- 
ders, they met at the breakfast table, with such appe- 
tites gained in their long night ride as made them 
forget every other care in life but that of satisfying 
hunger. 

It was while they were still at the table, that Coyle 
rang and requested the presence of Mrs. Perkins. 

The landlady came promptly. 

“This is my wife, Mrs. Brandon Coyle, Mrs. Per- 
kins,” said the man. 

“ I’m sure I’m very proud to know the lady, sir !” 
said Mrs. Perkins, with a courtesy. 

After breakfast the landlady and her guest went out 
in a cab together — not to Regent street or Oxford 
street, by any means, but to much cheaper and less 
fashionable quarters, where, nevertheless, to Kit’s 
inexperienced eyes, the splendor of the shops seemed 
to exceed the gorgeousness of all the palaces in all the 
fairy tales she had ever heard. 

Brandon Coyle had given her thirty pounds at start- 
ing, and she brought back a carriage load of finery, but 
not one penny of the money. 

In a paroxysm of almost breathless delight she made 
her toilet for an early dinner. She put on a pale-blue 
silk dress, with white lace fichu and under-sleeves, 
and had her beautiful light hair dressed and tied back 
with bows of light- blue ribbon. 

As the girl walked into the drawing-room her lover 
gazed at her in admiration and delight. 

“ How do yo loike me noo ?” inquired Kit, with a 
radiant smile that lighted her blue eyes into splendor 
and enhanced her beauty immeasurably. 

“ I like you very much, Kit,” answered the young 
man, laughing at her, though he admired her. 

At dinner Kit ate fast and voraciously, telling her 


116 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


companion to fill her soup plate full and not put her 
off with two or three mouthfuls. She ate her soup 
audibly, with deep, grateful “ ha’s ” between each 
spoonful, and committed other atrocious crimes against 
good manners, much to the disgust of her ‘‘ ’usband,” 
who did not, however, venture to find fault with her, 
as he wished at present to keep her in a good humor. 

Immediately after dinner he told Kit that he was 
going out on business, but would be back in an hour. 

So Brandon Coyle threw himself into a cab and 
drove down to the city, and went into the Burlington 
Arcade, where he selected a “ splendid ” set of imita- 
tion sapphires, in imitation pearls and French gilt — a 
set which, had they been real, would have cost as many 
thousand as, being only imitation, they cost pounds. 

He returned early, according to his promise, and 
found Kit standing at the window staring at the 
passers-by. She had no other occupation, poor soul. 

“Kit,” he said, taking a seat, “I have bad news for 
you.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed the girl. “ Is the old squoire 
dead ? And must Oi tek off all these pretty things and 
wear ugly black ?” 

“ No, not so bad as that ; but the old squire is very 
ill at Brighton, and my sister has sent a telegram to 
say that I must come down to him immediately if I 
wish to see him alive.” 

“ Wull, then, we will go noo ; but, moind yo, Oi 'm 
no going to put off my pretty blue gownde with the 
long tail, and go in black for him — Oi 'm no ! The old 
squoire is none o’ my blood kin, only my fowk-in-law,” 
said Kit. 

“Well, and you needn’t. But I must go away im- 
mediately, Kit. It is a long drive to London Bridge 
Station, where I wish to catch the six o’clock train,” 


kit’s DATS. 


in 


“ Wull, Oi ’ll be ready in a minute.” 

“ But you needn’t go, Kit. As you said, he’s no blood 
relation of yours. ’ 

“ Wull, he ’s my fowk-in-law ; besides, Oi want to 
go.” 

“ If you go, Kit, you cannot wear that pretty ‘ gownde,’ 
you know. And you would have to wear black.” 

“ Oh !” 

“ Nor could you wear these splendid jewels. Look 
what I have brought you !” he said, taking the parcel 
that he had laid upon the mantel shelf, untying it, and 
opening a red morocco casket lined with white satin, 
and displaying splendors that dazzled the eyes and 
dazed the brain of poor Kit. 

“ Be they moine ?” exclaimed Kit, in a tone of en- 
raptured awe, as she gloated over the treasures. 

“ Yes, yours. Let me clasp the necklace and bracelet 
on you,” answered Brandon Coyle, suiting the action to 
the word. 

“ Oh ! but this Lunnun toon be a gret pleece ! a gret 
pleece !” muttered Kit, in a voice of profound convic- 
tion, as she surveyed herself in the long mirror, after 
the highly amused Coyle had decorated her with the 
full set of flashing sham jewels. 

” Yes, the greatest place in the world to produce 
such gems as these !” said the laughing man. 

“ They must cost a mint o’ munny.” 

“ Three — thousand — guineas !” slowly and gravely 
lied Coyle, for they had just cost three guineas, and 
were very dear at that.” 

“ Eh ! Gude save us ! Oi dinnot know there was so 
much munny in all the wurld !” 

“And now you know you have got that much on 
your own person, and now I hope you will believe that 
I love you and mean to make you a lady.” 


118 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


“ Oi 'm thenking yo hev med me a leddy,” answered 
Kit, turning around and around between the window 
and the glass so that the light might set her “ sap- 
phires ” in a blue blaze. 

“ And now you will let me go alone to my dying 
uncle. 'You would rather do so than take off all these 
beautiful things and put on your ugly old black gown 
to accompany me.” 

“ Ou ay, Oi would thet !” frankly acknowledged Kit. 

” All right, then ; I ’ll go. My cab is at the door,” 
replied Coyle, eagerly seizing his hat. 

“ Hold on a minnut ! ’ cried Kit. 

“ What now ?” demanded Coyle, impatiently. 

“ Be these splendid things moine, for mre V' 

“ For sure.” 

“ And yo wunnot iver tek them away from me ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ And ken Oi wear ’em all the toime ?” 

“ Day and night, if you like.” 

“ Then Oi ’ll wear ’em all the toime except when Oi 
'm in bed, and get the gude o’ them.” 

“Just so. Is that all ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Then I ’m off. Good-bye !” 

“Good-bye. When wull yo be beck ?” 

“ To-morrow, or next day, as soon as all is over,” 
answered Brandon Coyle, from the stairs. 

For the first few days of her “ ’usband’s ” absence Kit 
seemed happy enough in wearing and enjoying her fine 
clothes. 

She gloried in the possession of no less than four silk 
dresses — all thin, flimsy, and cheap, but of delicate and 
beautiful colors, well suited to her own lovely complex- 
ion. And sometimes she put on all four of these, one 
after another, in a day. 


kit’s days. 


119 


In this way she amused herself for several days, and 
then grew weary of the monotony. 

Late one night Kit was surprised by the return of her 
“ ’usband,” who told her that his uncle was still very 
low at Brighton, his death being expected every hour, 
and that he, Brandon Coyle, had only run up to town to 
tell her this, and that he would have to go back by an 
early train the next morning. 

“ Whoy dunnot yo tek me doon to moy fowk-in-law, 
at Brighton ? Oi ’m tired of my loife, biding here and 
seeing nubbuddy and doing nothing !” demanded Kit. 

“ Because there ’s fatal illness in the house and you 
would be in the way. Besides, do you know what is the 
matter with my uncle r 

“ Noa !” 

He 's got the small-pox !” 

“ Save us and sain us !” cried the girl, turning pale 
with terror. “ Keep your distance then ! Oi ’m no 
moind to hev moy beauty spoiled hy yo 

“ Don’t be afraid ! I took a bath in the sea and put 
on a complete new suit of clothes before I came here, ’ 
replied Brandon Coyle, laughing. 

And so he trifled with the credulity and fears of the 
simple creature, who believed him or not, as her mood 
happened to be. 

The next morning Coyle left her again. 

In her misery she went and made a confidant of her 
landlady, telling the good woman frankly of her own 
humble origin and of her secret marriage, of her impa- 
tience to be introduced to her “fowk-in-law,” and of 
her “ 'usband’s ” threat to shut her up in a mad-house. 

Three days after this, on a dark and drizzling morn- 
ing in December, Kit sat, as we have described her, 
dressed out in her light-blue silk, white lace fichu, 
and “ sapphire ” and “ pearl ” jewels, leaning on the 


120 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


window-sill and looking out upon the dreary street, and 
wishing herself back at Miston, when, without warning, 
the door opened and Brandon Coyle strode into the 
room. 

He was just off a night journey from that terrible 
scene that ensued upon reading the Earl of Altofaire’s 
will, immediately after his lordship’s funeral, which 
ended in the exhibition of poor Kit’s ill spelled letter to 
Lady Arielle Montjoie, and the consequent exposure of 
Brandon Coyle’s evil deed, and the destruction of all 
his hopes. 

Kit started with surprise at his sudden appearance, 
and arose to meet him ; but shrank back again appalled 
by the pallid skin, set teeth, lowering brow and gleam- 
ing black eyes that seemed to pierce her through. 

His face was the face of a fiend, and there was murder 
in his eyes as he glared at the ignorant, half idiotic 
beauty, who, with all her simplicity, had contrived to 
confound all his plans and destroy all his prospects. 

“ Gude Lord ! Wot’s the matter ? Is the old squoire 
deed ?” inquired Kit, who had never in all her life seen 
such a terrible look on any human face, and could not 
read it aright. 

“ Yes — the— old squire is dead,” replied the man, 
struggling hard to compose his tell-tale features to 
their ordinary expression ; for, until he had met the 
girl’s affrighted eyes, and heard her exclamation, he 
had been unconscious of how much his face betrayed 
him and terrified her. 

He did not wish to alarm her ; to have done that 
would have interfered with his immediate plans in 
regard to her. He must now quiet her terrors, by put- 
ting her thoughts on the false scent that she herself had 
suggested. 

” Yes,” he repeated, “ the old man is dead, and he 


kit’s days. 


m 


died a dreadful death. I cannot get over it,” and with 
this he walked to the farthest window and looked out, 
to conceal his face from her until he could compose it. 

“Ou, weel,” said Kit, kindly, “dinna tek it so very 
haard. He was an old mon, and beloike his toime had 
come.” 

“Yes,” said Coyle, without looking around. “And 
his going off just now. certainly makes everything easy 
for us. I am his heir. I can walk right in and take 
possession of Caveland now, and take you with me.” 

“ Oh, when V* exclaimed Kit, eagerly. 

“ Immediately. You must go and get ready to leave 
London with me by the four o’clock train this after- 
noon. We are to go down to Caveland, where the 
remains have been sent and where the funeral is to 
take place. I am going out on business, but will return 
for you in time.” 

“ Oi wull go pack up at once !” exclaimed Kit, hurry- 
ing from the room. 

He looked after her as she disappeared, again with 
murder in his eyes — 

“ While in his thoughts her hours were numbered.” 


CHAPTER XL 


A demon’s deed. 

Forthcoming events cast their shadows before. 

Folk Lore. 

1 see a hand ye cannot see. 

That beckons me away ; 

I hear a voice ye cannot hear, 

That says I may not stay. 

Anonymous. 

Bratidon Coyle since his exposure and disgrace at 
Castle Montjoie, had but two objects in view : 

To wreak a signal vengeance on the beautiful simple- 
ton whom he had betrayed by a false marriage, yet who 
with all her simplicity, had had fatal cunning enough 
to write that warning letter which had arrested his 
marriage with Lady Arielle Montjoie and ruined all his 
prospects of prosperity. 

And then to leave England and seek his safety and 
his fortune in the New World. 

To secure these objects he was compelled to act 
promptly. 

Immediately on leaving Montjoie Castle he had 
[ 122 ] 


A DEMON^S DEED. 


123 


hurried on to Caveland as fast as his horse could carry 
him. 

On reaching his own room he had summoned his 
valet, ordered him to gather up and pack his valise, 
with a couple of changes of underclothing and all his 
jewels, together with a small traveling dressing-case. 

Then having put on his ulster and cap, he threw him- 
self into his dog cart and ordered the groom to drive 
him to Miston Station. 

There he secured the midnight London express and 
reached Paddington at seven o’clock the next morning 
and Chelsea at eight. 

After successively frightening, amazing and delight- 
ing the poor, excitable creature, he left the doomed 
woman to get ready for her fatal journey, and went out 
to prepare the way for his own deadly revenge and 
speedy escape. 

He threw himself into a passing cab and told the cab- 
man to drive into the city. 

He stopped the driver at a coffee-house, where he got 
out and called for a private room and writing materials. 

Here he drew from his pocket a blank check cut from 
his uncle’s check-book at Caveland. 

Having the art of imitating any handwriting perfectly 
at command, he spread the blank check out on the table 
before him, and filled it up for five thousand pounds 
sterling, and signed it with his uncle’s name. 

Then he re-entered his cab and directed the cabman 
to drive to Bunson Brothers, bankers, Northcote street. 

On his arrival at the bank he went up to the paying- 
teller’s window, where two or three men were standing, 
and where he had to wait his own turn to be served. 

Yet when that turn came he hesitated and quailed, 
not from any twinges of conscience, but from absolute 
fear ! 


124 


BRANDON COYLE 'S WIFE. 


He felt the situation. He was about to commit a 
forgery, which, if discovered, would send him to penal 
servitude for life ! He had often presented his uncle’s 
checks for large amounts to be cashed at that very 
window, by that very teller. 

But the voice of the paying-teller sealed his fate. 

“ What can we do for you, Mr. Brandon ?” 

“ Cash this, if you please,” said Coyle, deciding quickly, 
with the desperation born of despair. 

He received the money, put it in a large pocket-book, 
and that into his breast-pocket, and left the bank. 

On reseating himself in his cab he ordered the cab- 
man to drive to Osborne & Son, brokers. Here he 
exchanged the bulk of his English funds for American 
money. Having concluded this affair he left the office, 
sprang into his cab, and bade the driver to go to the 
agency of the Cunard Line of Ocean Steamships. 

Reaching that office he got down, went in and secured 
a berth in the first cabin of the America^ which was to 
sail from Liverpool to New York the next morning. 

He took the precaution to get out his tickets under an 
assumed name — one that, seen in the list of passengers, 
might appear as a typical American name — George 
Washington Brown. 

Having concluded this business he next went to a 
hairdresser’s, where he had his own luxuriant blue- 
black locks trimmed as closely as fashion would permit. 

Then he drove to a theatrical wig-maker and procured 
from him an auburn wig and auburn whiskers — a color 
which would suit his black eyes as naturally as did his 
own raven locks. 

These he put carefully away in his pocket to be used 
as occasion should call for them. 

His next visit was to an outfitting establishment, 
where he purchased a suit of sea-clothing and another 


A demon’s deed. 


125 


valise, which he filled with all the articles likely to be 
wanted on his voyage. 

His last two acquisitions were deadly in their signifi- 
cance. He took the precaution of procuring them at 
shops far distant from each other. 

From a druggist in the Borough he purchased a three- 
ounce bottle of chloroform, and from a hardware dealer 
in Oxford street he bought an Italian stiletto, or small 
dagger, three-edged, fine and sharp, and folding into a 
case handle for convenience in carrying. These articles 
he closely concealed in his bosom as soon as he found 
himself alone. Then he went to “ Very’s,” where he 
ordered the most luxurious luncheon the house could 
afford. 

And having partaken of this with as much relish as if 
he had not committed a forgery, and was not meditating 
a murder and a flight for life, and having drank a bottle 
of champagne and several glasses of brandy and smoked 
two cigars, he settled his bill, re-entered his cab and 
drove back to Church street, Chelsea. 

Kit, meanwhile, had not been idle one moment. 

Full of excitement at the idea of returning to her 
native village as Mrs. Brandon Coyle of Caveland, a 
“rale leddy and nobbut else,” poor Kit ran up to the 
room where she kept her boxes and rang for the servant 
to take down such as she required, and made prepara- 
tions to leave. 

Little did she care for the supposed death of the old 
squire, except as it appeared to favor her own interests. 

Kit generously gave away much of her showy orna- 
ments to poor Jane Mossop, and had scarcely got 
through when the latter was called down stairs to help 
her mistress. 

Kit was then left alone, and being a little tired sat 
down to rest in her easy-chaic. 


126 


BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 


And now a strange mood came over the girl — a ' 
reaction from the wild delight she had experienced in 
the immediate anticipation of being “ med a leddy,” 
and going to rule as such at Caveland ; a reaction into 
a deep depression, for which she could not account ; a 
presentiment of coming calamity which she could 
neither comprehend nor banish — one of those dark, 
foreboding moods to which the poor beauty had been 
lately subject. Such a one as had overcome her on the 
last evening of her stay at Net’s cottage. 

She sat and brooded over the situation until her weak 
brains were utterly bewildered. 

Suddenly through her mental confusion came an 
inspiration that instantly restored that confusion tfo 
order. 

She got up and rang the bell. 

The landlady herself came up to answer it. 

“Oi want yo to get me pen, ink, and paper, and a 
postage stamp,” said Kit. 

The landlady left the room for the purpose, and 
presently sent up the required articles by Jane Mossop. 

When the girl had placed them on the table and 
retired, Kit locked herself in the room and sat down to 
write a letter. 

Witless Kit could be as cunning as a fox, upon 
occasion. 

She wrote a long, explanatory letter to her late mis- 
tress, Mrs. Adrian Fleming. She gave that lady a nar- 
rative of her flight from the Birds’ Nest, her journey to 
London, her residence at Mrs. Perkins’ lodging-house. 
Church street, Chelsea, and of her impending journey 
down to Miston to attend the funeral of the late Squire 
Coyle, and then to be “ set up ” as the lady of Cave- 
land. 

But she also expressed her doubts and fears of Bran- 


A demon’s deed. 


127 


don Coyle, because of the rumors she had heard of his 
engagement to Lady Arielle Montjoie, and the threats 
he had made of putting her — Kit — into a mad house. 

She concluded by beseeching Mistress Net, in case 
she — Kit — should not be heard from at Caveland, to 
“ take the law ” of Mr. Brandon Coyle, and make him tell 
what he had done with her, and bring her “ to the 
fore ” to prove whether she was crazy enough to be 
locked up in a mad house. 

Such was the substance of the letter. 

She enveloped it, and directed in a clear, though large 
and clumsy hand that nearly covered the face of the 
envelope, to 

“ Mistress Nett Flemming, Miston, Kumberland.” 

She sealed this letter and ran down stairs with it to 
the kitchen, where the landlady and her maid-of-all- 
work were both busy cooking. 

“ No. Kem here ; Oi want to speak to yoin proivate,” 
said Kit, leading the way to the basement hall. 

“ Well, then, ma’arfi ?” inquired the landlady, follow- 
ing, her. 

“ Yo see this letter ?” inquired Kit. 

“Certainly, ma’am.” 

“You tek this letter and keep it boy yo, safe for one 
wik ! If Oi get to Caveland safe^ Oi wull wroite to yo, 
do yo hear ?” 

“ Yes, ma’am, and I shall be very glad to hear from 
you.” 

“ Noo listen agen. If yo don't get any letter from me, 
yo ’ll know thet summat hev happened to me — ” 

“Oh ! dear, ma’am, I hope not.” 

“ Oi hope not, too, but nobuddy can tell. So moind, 
noo, wot I say to yo — if yo dunnot get a letter from me 
in one wik’s toime, yo may be sartain sure Oi never got 
to Caveland at all ! And noo listen good. Yo must pit 


128 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


thet letter into the post, and it wull go to my dear Mis- 
tress Net Fleming, and she would hunt me up.” 

“But — my dear — lady !” said Mrs. Perkins, in a tone 
of expostulation against fancied dangers and vain pre- 
cautions. 

“ Do yo moind wot Oi want yo to do ?” inquired Kit. 

“ Yes, my dear ma’am ; but it all seems so uncalled 
for ! Of course, ma’am, I will take the letter and be 
very careful of it, and I will follow your directions in all 
respects.” 

“ Thet ’s it ! Yo remember and do thet, and yo ’ll get 
yor reward,” said Kit, as she turned and ran upstairs 
with a somewhat lightened heart. 

“And noo Oi ’m all right !” she said to herself, as she 
dropped into a rocking-chair by the window, and looked 
out idly at the passers-by, in the drizzling rain that still 
continued to fall. 

Her self-congratulatory soliloquy was cut short by 
the loud striking of the clock and the simultaneous en- 
trance of Brandon Coyle. 

“ Are you ready ?” he inquired. 

“Oh, yes ! readdy and wulling !” promptly answered 
Kit. “ Is it toime to start ?” 

“We have no time to lose. Put on your bonnet and 
sack and also your waterproof cloak, while I go and 
settle with Mrs. Perkins. The cab is at the door.” 

Mrs. Perkins and Jane Mossop met her in the hall to 
bid her good-bye. 

And then Brandon Coyle put her into the cab and 
ordered the man on the box to drive to the Paddington 
Station. 



BRANDON COVLE AND KIT.— Page 105 







I 







CHAPTER XII. 

A FATAL JOURNEY. 

An awful sign stands in her house of life. 

An enemy — a fiend — lurks close behind 
The radiance of her planet. She is warned ! 

Coleridge. 

I see a trifler smiling 
As in delighted visions on the brink 
Of a dread chasm ! Hemans. 

When they reached the Paddington Station Brandon 
Coyle alighted, paid and discharged their cab, and led 
Kit into the waiting-room to remain while he went to 
take the tickets. 

A few minutes later he returned and gave her his 
arm to the middle compartment of a first-class carriage ' ^ 

which was empty. | 

The short DecembeV afternoon was drawing rapidly 
to a close. 

The rain had entirely ceased, and the clouds were ' 

breaking up, and as they reached the open country the 
sun was setting behind the western hills. 

Not a word had been spoken between the passengers 
since they left the station. 




[129] 


130 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


Kit leaned from the window and gazed at the setting 
.sun very much as she used to gaze at it from the 
nursery windows at the Miston rectory. 

Soon the transient glory of the after-glow faded 
entirely away, and the gray twilight came on. 

Still Kit looked from the window. Star after star 
came out. 

“ Seems loike they were loighting the candles one 
after another up there, doan’t it ?” she inquired. 

Coyle grunted some sarcastic but inaudible reply. 

At the next station the guard opened the door of 
their compartment and lighted the lamp. 

When the train moved on again, Kit drew in her 
head. The light within the carriage prevented her 
from seeing anything in the darkness outside. 

They were passing throught a flat, dreary portion of 
the country, in the hour when no lights gleamed from 
the windows or doors of wayside dwellings, when all 
without was dark, still and gloomy ; no sights to be 
seen but heavy, heavier and heaviest shadows, no sound 
to be heard but the low monotonous thunder of the 
swiftly-rushing train. 

Within the compartment nothing but the railroad 
lamp, reflected by its silver sconce, an.d shining down 
upon the crimson paddings, gilded cornices, gay tas- 
sels and gleaming little mirrors of the fixtures, and 
upon the sullen form of Brandon Coyle, wrapped in 
his dark ulster and with his black cap pulled down half 
over his face. He was apparently sound asleep. 

So poor Kit fell into thought, and this mood brought 
even to her some spirit of self-questionings and self- 
rebukes. 

For the first time she reflected on the anxiety and 
distress she must have caused them all, even the old 
grandmother who had brought her up — anxiety and 


A FATAL JOURNEY. 


131 


distress in which they must have lived all this time of 
her absence, during which she had never once written 
to relieve them with the news of her safety. 

And with this thought the poor girl fell asleep, in 
penitence for her own impulsive evil doings, fell asleep 
softly, sweetly, unsuspiciously — but nevermore to awak- 
en in this lower world. 

Another hour of darkness passed on. 

The rush and thunder of a huge freight train coming 
from the opposite direction startled Brandon Coyle from 
his fitful slumbers. 

He rubbed his eyes, waited until the deafening noise 
of the freight train passed away, and then drew out his 
watch and looked at it. 

An exclamation of dismay burst from him. 

“ Now r he cried, with a terrible oath. “ It 

wants a quarter to twelve ! In another ten minutes we 
shall pass the junction ! No time to be lost now ! It 
must be done at once !” 

He stooped forward and looked at Kit. She was 
leaning back in her corner, sleeping soundly, like a 
baby, with her beautiful golden hair in disorder and 
her face turned up to the light— a healthy, blooming, 
peaceful, lightly breathing face. 

Any' beholder might have loved and pitied it for its 
infantile beauty and simplicity and its utter helplessness 
in sleep. 

But there was no pity in the cruel, murderous eyes 
that glared upon it then. 

“ I might do the job now, without having to use the 
chloroform, only she is so closely wrapped up I could 
not get at the right spot for a swift and sure blow with- 
out waking her and — getting up a noise perhaps. Let 
me see." 

He began to examine her clothing ; but the thick 


132 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


fronts of her waterproof cloak, wrapped and twined 
around her folded arms, could not be disturbed without 
waking her. 

“ The throat,'* he muttered to himself ; but then her 
long scarf vail was doubled over her hat and wound 
around her neck with the long shining tresses of her 
luxuriant, dishevelled hair in a way that could not be 
disarranged without rousing her. Still, however, he 
gazed and gloated over that throat. 

“ It is but a flimsy thing,” he said, and he put his 
hand upon the vail very lightly. 

There are sleepers whom the loudest thunder could 
not awaken, but whom the lightest touch would arouse. 

Kit was one of these. She stirred at the feather-like 
touch of her own scarf vail as it was moved by Brandon 
Coyle. She stirred, and he shrank away. 

“ It won’t do !” he muttered to himself. “ I must not 
risk waking and frightening her — a struggle would be 
fatal to my purpose, at least to my escape. No, I must 
put her in the deeper sleep of chloroform and then 
finish the work. And all this before the train reaches 
the junction.” 

He hastily consulted his watch again. 

“ Only eight minutes left ! I must be quick !” he 
muttered. 

He had turned very pale and was breathing hard. 

He seized his brandy-flask, took a long drink, and then 
replaced it. 

Next from his breast-pocket he took the bottle of 
chloroform and a piece of sponge, which he proceeded 
to saturate with the deadly sedative. Then he held it 
to the nose of the poor, sleeping beauty — lightly at first, 
until she had breathed in enough to make it safe for 
him to press the sponge over her nose and mouth and 
over her whole face with a fold of her cloak. 


A FATAL JOURNEY. 


133 


When he was satisfied that she was quite insensible 
he put away the anaesthetic quickly and as quickly 
drew forth a fine, thin, sharp stiletto. 

With his left hand he invaded the folds of her cloak, 
and then the opening of her sack and basque, until he 
felt the warm bosom and the beating heart — beating 
slowly and feebly under the effects of the chloroform. 
Here he held the fingers of his left hand, while with 
the coolness and caution and ruthless cruelty of a 
demon, he guided the point of his fine stiletto, in his 
right hand, to the vital spot, and drove it in up to the 
hilt ! 

The slain girl shuddered through all her fine frame, 
and then grew still in death ; yet it must have been 
only a mechanical spasm. She could have felt no pain, 
and known no change until she awoke in the upper 
world. 

Brandon Co5de, with his face pale and rigid, his teeth 
set, his eyeballs starting from his head, his whole frame 
trembling, stood holding the hilt of the dagger in his 
hand and gazing upon his victim for a minute, and then 
he slowly drew the dagger out, and wiped it on an 
inner fold of her cloak, and he hid it again in his bosom. 

He took another drink of brandy and drained his 
flask. 

Then his next care was to pose the body so that it 
might appear to be sleeping. 

He did this with great ingenuity and effect— sitting 
her up, reclining on her right side, with her head sup- 
ported by the corner of the carriage ; then he folded 
her waterproof cloak loosely but completely around her 
form, so as to conceal the crimson witness that was 
spurting like a little fountain from her wound. Then 
he covered her face with her vail, and put her travel- 
ing-bag in her hand, bending the fast stiffening fingers 


134 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


around the handle, and placing it in such a rest that it 
could not drop. 

Having done this, he sat down and contemplated the 
effect. 

He smiled grimly, even while he shuddered. 

The illusion was perfect in his eyes, and might, he 
thought, deceive any one who did not attempt to arouse 
the apparent sleeper. She seemed a young woman 
who had deliberately tucked herself up and covered her 
face for a comfortable “snooze,” and had taken excel- 
lent care to grasp a fast hold on her traveling- bag 
while she indulged in a nap. 

He had seen hundreds of women asleep in such a 
position. 

The warning whistle of the engine told him they were 
now approaching the junction, where the Liverpool 
down train would pass in a few minutes. And by that 
train he meant to get off and escape to the steamer that 
was to sail for New York. 

He gave a last look at the tout ensemble he had 
arranged. He thought he could not improve it. 

He gathered together all his “ traps,” and then 
lowered the light of the lamp, and waited for the stop- 
ping of the train, which was already slowing into the 
station. 

He saw that the Liverpool express was coming in 
from the opposite direction. 

As soon as the train stopped he opened the door of 
his compartment, sprang out, and shut it again. 

“ All right, sir ! I will lock it and keep it for you,” 
said the obliging guard, turning the^key and then go- 
ing off to other carriages, for a large number of people 
were getting off and as many getting on the train. 

Brandon Coyle hurried across the platform to the 
refreshment-room, and through that to the ticket- 


A FATAL JOURNEY. 


135 


office, where he purchased a through ticket to Liver- 
pool, and then he flew as if he felt the foul fiend 
behind him, and thrust his ticket into the hand of the 
guard, who naturally ascribed his agitation to haste 
and anxiety to catch the Liverpool express, and so 
hurried him into a carriage just a moment before the 
train started. 

In the meantime the guard of the Northwestern 
Express on the other track waited near the door of the 
reserved compartment for the return of his generous 
passenger. 

Presently out from the refreshment-room came a 
gentleman in an ulster and a traveling cap — a gentle- 
man whose general appearance was so exactly like 
Brandon Coyle’s that in the imperfect light the anxious 
guard took him to be the man for whom he was look- 
ing. 

“ All right, sir ! Here you are ! Look sharp, please, 
sir ! The train's off !” he exclaimed, unlocking and 
throwing open the door of the reserved compartment. 

The stranger nodded and sprang into the compart- 
ment, wherein there was but one other passenger — a 
woman, apparently fast asleep. 

The stranger politely seated himself on the opposite 
seat, at an angle farthest from her. 

The guard closed the door and the train started 
with its living and its dead. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


ENTRAPPED. 

See how the hopes of life resemble 
The uncertain glory of an April day, 

That now doth seem all sun and brightness, 

And then a tempest takes it all away. Anon. 

Thus doth the ever changing course of things 
Run a perpetual circle, ever turning. 

And that same day which highest glory brings, 
Brings also to the point of back returning. 

Daniels. 

The steamship Colorado, by which Valdimir Desparde 
had sailed for England, reached Southampton in the 
gray dawn of a dreary, drizzling day earl)’ in De- 
cember. 

Having no luggage to detain him at the custom- 
house, he hastened immediately from the ship to the 
telegraph office, from which he sent a dispatch to Lord 
Beaudevere at Cloudland, notifying the baron of his 
safe arrival at Southampton and his immediate depar- 
ture for Miston, and requesting his cousin to send the 
dog-cart to meet him at the station on the following 
morning. 

From the telegraph office he hurried to the London 
and Southwestern Railway Station, where he procured 
[136J 


ENTRArPED. 


137 


a through ticket, in conjunction with the London and 
Northwestern and branch lines to Miston. 

He had just time then to snatch a hasty breakfast in 
the refreshment-room before taking his seat in a first- 
class carriage, just an instant previous to the starting 
of the train. 

His companions in the compartment were old gentle- 
men, each absorbed in his Tunes ^ and a young curate 
buried in his book, whatever it might have been. 

Never had homesick exile returned to his native 
land with more joy in the present and more confidence 
in the future than did Valdimir Desparde. 

He rode all that day, and late into the night, without 
any accident to break the monotony of his journey, 
except the brief stoppings of the train at the stations, 
where sometimes he left his compartment to stretch 
his limbs, or to get a cup of coffee ora sandwich. 

It was midnight when he reached a certain junction 
where he was to change trains. 

As he left his compartment to cross the open space 
that lay between the two tracks he met a man hurry- 
ing from the opposite direction, whose general appear- 
ance seemed so familiar to him that he turned to look 
after him ; but the man had already disappeared in one 
of the carriages, and the train was moving. 

He passed through the refreshment-room to get an 
apple, and had scarcely emerged from the opposite 
door when he was hailed by a guard who stood at a 
first-class carriage, with : 

“All right, sir! Here you are! Look sharp, sir, 
please ! She’s off !” 

Never dreaming that the guard mistook him for 
another person, and thinking only that the man meant 
to hurry his motions, Valdimir Desparde ran up to the 


138 


BRANDON COYLE’8 WIFE. 


open door, and was immediately shoved into the com- 
l^artment, which was closed again simultaneously with 
the moving off of the train. 

He saw that there was but one other passenger in 
this compartment— a tall, large woman, closely wrapped 
in a black waterproof cloak and a black hat, with a 
black gauze scarf vail wrapped around her head and 
face. She was leaning back in the right-hand corner 
of the back seat,. and clasped a traveling-bag which 
rested on her knees. 

Her unnatural stillness caused the young man to look 
at her with some attention ; but she only seemed to be 
most comfortably and soundly asleep. Whether this 
woman were young or middle-aged, handsome or 
homely, Valdimir could not see, and did not care. 

As a matter of courtesy he took a seat as far as pos- 
sible from her — diagonally across on the opposite side. 

The light of the lamp was burning at its lowest ; 
another turn downward must have put it out. 

It was just as the murderer had left it to conceal his 
crime for a few hours. 

Valdimir, believing that the female passenger had 
turned it down to favor her own slumbers, and not 
caring to read, or to do anything but indulge in happy 
thoughts, left it so, and leaning back, closed his bodily 
eyes upon this contracted scene, only to open his men- 
tal ones upon the immediate future that arose in im- 
agination before him — the happy meeting with his 
friends, the joyous reconciliation with his betrothed, 
the brilliant wedding, the blessed union. 

Meanwhile the train thundered on. 

An hour passed. The train stopped at some large 
station. People got off, and people got on. 

The guard put his head in at this compartment. 

“ Can I do anything for you, sir ?” he inquired. 


ENTRAPPED. 


139 


“ No, thanks,” answered Valdimir Desparde, in a low 
voice. 

“ Can I do anything for the lady ?” 

“ No, I— think not. She seems to be sound asleep,” 
replied Desparde, a little hesitatingly, as he was answer- 
ing for another. 

“ All right, sir,” and the man closed the door. “Yes, 
mum ! This compartment is engaged !” he replied, 
the next moment, to a lady who came to the door. 

Valdimir arose to say that there were four vacant 
seats ; but he was too late — the guard had marshaled 
off the lady to another carriage. 

The train started again. 

Desparde looked across at his companion. How very 
profoundly the woman slept. Not all the noise of the 
thundering train nor the shrieking of steam whistle 
when it was about to stop, seemed to disturb her in the 
least. She had never moved a hair’s breadth through 
all the racket and confusion. 

Valdimir gazed at her now in wonder for a few 
moments, and then his happier reveries claimed him, 
and he closed his eyes and gave himself up to them. 

Another hour of peace within the compartment, 
while all was thunder and flight without, and then the 
train, with much whistle-shrieking, “slowed” into a 
station. 

Still the sleeping woman slept so profoundly as not to 
be disturbed by all the dreadful noise and confusion. 

Valdimir Desparde looked at her again with increased 
wonder. She had not changed her position by the frac- 
tion of an inch. 

“ Poor soul, how tired out and exhausted she must 
have been !” said Valdimir to himself. 

“ Change carriages for Miston !” shouted the guard 
from the other end of the platform. 


140 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE 


Desparde started at the welcome sound. He had not 
suspected that they had reached this junction. 

He caught up his valise and left the carriage, closing 
the door behind him. 

The first gray light of dawn was rising above the 
eastern hills. 

“ 1 shall reach home by sunrise ! A good omen,” said 
Desparde to himself, as he crossed the familiar tracks to 
the other side of the way-station at which the Miston 
train was waiting. 

A guard opened a carriage door, touched his hat, and 
said : 

“ Happy to see you back, Mr. Desparde.” 

“ Ha ! Bartholomew ! Is this you ? I am very glad 
to see you ! You are the first acquaintance — the very 
first — I have met since my arrival in England !” ex- 
claimed Valdimir Desparde, with a slight start of pleas- 
ure. 

The thunder of the departing train which Desparde 
had just left, and which had started again on its North- 
ern flight, completely drowned the reply of Bartholo- 
mew. 

“ How are all our people at home ?” inquired Valdi- 
mir, when the din had ceased, and as he took his seat in 
the carriage. 

“ All well, sir,” replied the man, standing with one 
foot upon the step — “ except, of course — You may have 
heard what has happened at the castle, sir ?” he inquired, 
suddenly breaking off his sentence to ask the question. 

“ No, indeed ! I have heard nothing at all lately. 
What has happened ?” anxiously demanded Valdimir. 

“ Well, sir, it was to be expected, of course ! His 
lordship was very old, and his departure should not 
grieve anybody ; but the Earl of Altofaire is gone, 
sir !” 


ENTRAPPED. 


141 


^'Indeed! I am very sorry ! How and when did that 
happen ?" demanded Valdimir, 

“ Apoplexy — a week ago, sir,” briefly replied the man. 

‘‘ I am very sorry to hear that ! And the widowed 
countess, how does she bear it ?” 

“ Not widowed at all, sir. Didn’t live for it I The 
countess — went nearly five months ago. Lungs, sir !” 

“ And — and — the Lady Ari — ” 

“ Excuse me now, sir ! Hate to leave ! But must 
attend to business. What class, ma'am ?” exclaimed 
the guard, as he closed the door, jumped off the step 
and ran to give a lady passenger a seat, 

Valdimir sank back into his place, very sorry ; not 
very much surprised to hear of the departure of an 
aged pair who had attained more than fourscore years, 
but very anxious to learn the condition of his betrothed. 
Lady Arielle Montjoie. 

There was no one in the compartment with him. 
That was not an unusual situation on the Miston 
Branch Railroad. Few first class passengers were 
accustomed to travel on this road at this hour. 

Valdimir would have liked to learn from that guard, 
if he could have done so by reading his mind, what the 
]'eople of Miston thought and said about his own sudden 
flight and long absence ; for upon this subject, now, 
since meeting this man, he was feeling sensitive. 

Ten minutes more, and the train drew into Miston 
Station. 

In a tumult of emotion Valdimir Desparde looked 
out. 

There were not many people to meet the train at this 
early hour. As before said, there were but few travel- 
ers come by it. 

The fly from the Dolphin Inn was there, and Jack 
Ken was on the box. 


142 


BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE. 


Valdimir wondered whether his cousin, Lord Beau- 
devere, had received his telegram from Southampton, 
and if so, why he had not sent the dog-cart for him ; 
but seeing no sign of the latter, he left the carriage, 
determined to engage the Dolphin fly to take him on to 
Cloudland. 

But as he stepped down from the door he found him- 
self in the arms of Lord Beaudevere, who had just that 
instant come up. 

“ Welcome home, my dear, dear boy ! Welcome 
home !’* exclaimed the baron, shaking the hands of his 
young relative with much emotion. “Welcome home, 
my dear Valdimir ! But oh ! you — you rascal ! you 
ought to be hanged ! What have you got to say, I 
wonder, why sentence of death should not be passed 
upon you ?“ demanded the baron, equally ready to 
laugh or cry. 

“ Nothing whatever, my dear lord. I throw myself 
on the mercy of the court, to ‘ ’head or to hang,’ or to 
pardon, as it sees fit,’’ exclaimed Valdimir, responding 
cordially to the greeting of his cousin. 

“ Come, come, now ! You must walk with me to the 
carriage. It is on the other side of the road. Couldn’t 
bring it nearer on account of the horses. Cut up like 
demons at the sound of the train. Come ; where are 
your traps ?’’ 

“ I have nothing but my valise, Beaue.’’ 

“ Here, boy ! take this and carry it on to the Dolphin 
Inn. Look sharp, now ! And tell them to look sharp 
about the breakfast. Come, clear out with you ! You 
needn’t wait for a passenger here. You see you won’t 
get any. The train is off !’’ said the baron, as he took 
the valise and threw it over to Jack Ken on the box of 
the fly. 

Jack touched his hat and started for the inn at the 


ENTRAPPED. 


143 


same moment that the train left the station on its way 
further north. 

The two gentlemen walked across the road to the 
spot where the Beaudevere carriage stood, and where 
the horses had a relapse into hysterics at the noise 
made by the departing train. 

As the noise died away, however, the animals became 
quiet. 

“ How is my sister ? I have not had a chance to ask 
you before,” said Valdimir, when they were seated side 
by side, and the carriage was rolling along the highway 
towards the inn. 

“ Vivienne is well and happy since we got your letter 
announcing your speedy return to vindicate yourself. 
She was wretched enough before that, I tell you !” 
exclaimed the baron. 

“ My dear sister ! Ah ! I have a long story to tell 
you, which will certainly rather awaken sympathy than 
condemnation.” 

“ Oh, I dare say. I dare say. But cut it now ! You 
look utterly used up, and must have breakfast before 
anything is e:jg)lained,” said Lord Beaudevere, a little 
coldly, for though he had zealously defended his young 
cousin in the presence of the Earl of Altofaire and Lady 
Arielle Montjoie, yet he really in his soul resented that 
supposititious low marriage of Valdimir Desparde. 

“And how is — I would like to inquire after one 
whom — ” began the young man, hesitatingly ; but the 
baron helped him on. 

“ Do you mean the Lady Arielle Montjoie ? Well, 
she is very delicate — has been so ever since you — But 
we will let that pass,” said Lord Beaudevere, breaking 
off ill his turn. 

“ I see, Baron, that you still condemn me ! But when 
you shall have heard my story, I dare to believe that 


144 


BUANDON COYLE 'S WIFE. 


you will not only pardoij but approve my course,” said 
Valditnir, quietly. 

“ Very likely ! Very likely ! I do not really wish to 
blame you, my boy ! You mortified us all very much, 
to be sure, but then you certainly broke no law of God 
or man ! I know all about it, Valdimir, my lad !” 

“ You know all about it, Beaue ?” inquired the young 
man, in incredulous surprise. 

“ Oh, to be sure ! Do you suppose, after your mys- 
terious flight, that we did not set private detectives on 
your track and discover your whereabouts T' 

Valdimir stared at his cousin in silence. 

“ We heard that you had embarked for New York 
under the name — the intensely Yankee name of Jeffer- 
son Adams, or Washington Monroe, or something of the 
sort — I have forgotten exactly what.” 

“ Was it Jonathan Adams ?” inquired Valdimir, with 
a curious smile. 

Ah, that was it ! Jonathan Adams !” 

“ What cannot detectives discover !” 

“ And, my boy, 3"our sister and myself crossed the 
ocean after our stray sheep to find you and bring you 
home.” 

“ My dear Beaue !” 

“Yes, we did ! We went over to New York to find 
you and bind up your wounds, whatever they might be, 
and bring you home to the fatted calf and the rest of 
the penitent prodigal’s reward ; but we came home 
again w’ith a wasp in each ear !” 

“ What was that ?” inquired Valdimir, with curiosity. 

“The news that you had left New York for New 
Orleans, accompanied by your wife and child. And as 
that wife and child did not enter into our plans, or even 
into our knowledge, we ’bout ship and came back to old 
England.” 


ENTRAPPED. 


145 


Valdimir stared at the speaker m mute amazement, 
and when, at length, he could speak, he merely mut- 
tered the words : 

‘ Wife and child ?' ” 

Oh, yes, that girl from Skol you used to be so kind 
to I You see we know all about it ! It is the old story ! 
Old as Adam and the forbidden fruit ! You were young, 
she was pretty, and — and — well, she was your wife ! 
ni do you the justice to believe that !” 

“ But the girl was not my wife !” exclaimed Desparde, 
still in amazement at the charge. 

“ Not your wife ! Then you ought to be hanged, sir ! 
I say now in earnest what I said before in jest : you 
ought to be hanged if the companion of your flight and 
the mother of your child was not your wife !” indig- 
nantly exclaimed the baron. 

“ Who told you that this woman and babe were my 
wife and child ?” inquired Valdimir, without losing his 
temper in the least degree. 

The detectives we put iipon your track !” 

“ My dear Beaue !” said Valdimir, “ you never were 
more misled and deceived in your whole life. I do 
assure you, upon my word and honor, that that young 
woman and child were no more to me than they are to 
you, or to old Father Peter Lucas at the castle. Now, 
Beaue, whatever folly you may have suspected me of, 
you never could have suspected me of untruthfulness ; 
and when I tell you this, you know I speak the truth.” 

“ And — and — Annek Yok of Skol was nothing to 
3’ou ?” inquired the baron, half relieved and half per- 
plexed. 

“No more than she was to'you or to — the pope,” 
laughed the young man. “ What I admire is the 
acumen of these astute private detectives, and the easy 
credulity of their patrons and victims.” 


146 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ My dear boy, I have wronged you, and I beg your 
pardon. But perhaps you will tell me what circum- 
stances could have misled the detectives into making 
such a false report of you ; and — what — on — earth — took 
you off on such a tangent if the embarrassment of a 
misalliance did not inquired the puzzled baron. 

“ I will tell you the false appearances that probably 
misled the detectives, or more likely those that 
informed the detectives, for this is a short story ; but I 
must wait a more convenient season to explain the 
cause of my flight from the country — which cause, as I 
said before, will more than justify me in your eyes.” 

Valdimir then gave a brief narrative of his unex- 
pected meeting with Annek Yok on the wharf on the 
morning of their landing in New York, to which port 
she had emigrated with her child to join her husband ; 
of her embarrassment at not being met by him ; — of 
his own — Valdimir Desparde’s — in finding Eric Lan’s 
boarding-house, where he learned that the man had 
died of typhoid fever only a few days previous ; of the 
keen distress of the young widow, and her resolve to 
go with her child to her brothers in New Orleans, 
whither Valdimir himself was bound, and whither he 
took the two forlorn ones, protecting them until he 
left them in the care of their relatives. 

He ended his narrative by telling of the death of the 
mother and child from yellow fever. 

” My brave boy ! And so your good deeds have 
actually been distorted and misrepresented to your 
hurt,” warmly exclaimed the baron. 

“ Did this story reach the ears of Lady Arielle ?” 
Inquired Valdimir. 

“ Ay, you may depend it did ! And, by the way, it 
reached her through a different channel ! Oh — ” 


ENTRAPPED. 


147 


“ Not by the detectives’ report ?” inquired Desparde, 
with an access of curiosity and interest. 

“No ; but through a letter purporting to come 'from 
yourself. Oh, I suspect there has been some grand 
villainy at work !” 

“A letter — from me 7'* inquired Valdimir, in perplex- 
ity. 

“Yes — a letter purporting to come from you to Mr. 
Brandon Coyle, confessing your low marriage as the 
cause of your flight ! This letter was sent by Miss 
Coyle to Lady Arielle Montjoie.” 

“ It was a base forgery !“ indignantly exclaimed Val- 
dimir. 

“ I assuredly now believe it to have been such. It 
only seemed plausible at first because it appeared to be 
genuine ; it corroborated the detectives’ story, and it 
was forwarded through the Coyles, whom we had no 
reason then to suspect.” 

“ Brandon Coyle is a villain !” burst forth Desparde. 

“ An unmasked villain now, my boy ! He has left the 
neighborhood, I believe. Certain discoveries of his mi.s- 
deeds have driven him away. But here we are at the 
Dolphin, and we must defer all serious conversation 
until after breakfast,” said the baron, as they drew up 
before the ancient hostelry. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


ARRESTED. 

Cold news for him ; 

Thus are his blossoms blasted in the bud, 

And caterpillars eat his leaves away. 

Shakespeare. 

They alighted and were immediately greeted by the 
whole force of the house and stables, from the landlord 
down to the bootblack, all coming to welcome the return 
of the wanderer and to proffer their services to him. 

“ Don’t run over us, good people !” exclaimed the 
baron, taking out his portemonnaie. “ There ! there ’s 
a sovereign to drink Mr. Desparde’s health ! Now let 
us pass !” exclaimed the baron, as he threw the coin 
down to boots for the benefit of the crowd, who imme- 
diately cheered and dispersed, leaving only the landlord 
and the head- waiter. 

“ Why should we not just as well drive on to Cloud- 
land ?” inquired Valdimir Desparde, who was pleased, 
but embarrassed, by this public ovation. 

“ Because I left Cloudland, fasting, before day this 
morning to come here and meet you. And having rid- 
[148] 


A.RRESTED. 


149 


den ten miles fasting, through the morning air, I have 
no mind to ride ten miles fasting back. This is on my 
own account. You, riding night and day, have come a 
railroad journey of several hundred miles, and you look 
— begging your pardon for my candor — as if you had 
been exhumed, in a good state of preservation, from a 
vault ! Come in !” replied the baron, leading the way 
into the house, followed by the landlord and the head- 
waiter. 

He paid no attention to them, but hailing a neat 
chambermaid who was passing, he call out : 

“ Here ! Ann ! Jane ! Mary ! whatever your name 
is, my dear ! Show Mr. Desparde to the bedroom I 
engaged for him, where he can get rid of some of the 
railroad dust ! And here ! Send up his valise ! Young 
Ken has it in charge." 

The chambermaid of the country inn, having none 
of the pertness of her city sisters, courtesied and 
blushed and courtesied, until the baron ceased to speak, 
and turned away from her ; after which she modestly 
and respectfully showed the traveler to his apart- 
ment. 

Twenty minutes after Lord Beaudevere and Mr. 
Valdimir Desparde were seated at a breakfast that 
might have satisfied in quantity the enormous appetite 
of the hungriest Arctic explorer, or in quality the deli- 
cate palate of the most fastidious epicure ; as why 
should it not, when the sea, with its treasures of fish and 
the forest with its wealth of game was at hand, to sup- 
ply the demand. 

The meal was served in a private parlor, whence the 
baron had banished all the servants, saying that he 
would ring if they should require any attendance ; for 
“ Beaue " wished to continue his confidential talk with 
his returned wanderer. 


150 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


Beaue ate slowly and appreciatively, asking and an- 
swering questions between times. 

“ Now will you tell me, Valdimir, what really d/d take 
you flying off to the uttermost ends of the earth, and 
that upon your very wedding morning, when you were 
to be married to the girl you loved, the girl approved 
by all your friends as you were approved by all of hers ? 
You say the cause of your flight was justifiable, and 
even your motive commendable ; you cannot feel any 
hesitation in explaining it.” 

“ My dear Beaue, it is a long and complicated narra- 
tive, and involves, among other matters, the necessity 
of some explanation on your part of the mystery — I 
hate the word ; it sounds so affected or melo-dramatic ; 
but 1 am obliged to use it — the mystery that involves 
my own and my sister’s birth and parentage and early 
life ! Are you ready now to give me that explanation, 
Beaue ?” 

“ Bosh !” exclaimed the baron, in an irritable man- 
ner, “ there is no mystery surrounding your birth and 
parentage and early life ! Hovv should there be ? 
Could the heir-presumptive of the Barony of Beaude- 
vere be of — doubtful parentage ?” 

“ Certainly not ! Yet, dear Beanie, there /ms been a 
mystery made of mine and my sister’s, which hitherto I 
have vainly implored you to clear up, and which you 
will clear up for us, I feel sure,” said Valdimir, fixing 
his earnest dark eyes wistfully upon the face of his 
cousin. 

“ Boy, you will ruin my digestion ! That is what you 
will do, and it is a serious misfortune to have dyspepsia 
at my time of life ! And what in the deuce has the 
mystery — confound the mystery ! — involving yours or 
anybody’s early life to do with your mad flight across 
the ocean on your wedding-day, for which you ought to 


arrested. 


151 


be shut up in the lunatic asylum for the rest of your 
life ?” hotly demanded the baron. “ There is no more 
secret history in your childhood than there is in the — 
in the — foalhood of that colt we see kicking up its heels 
in the paddock,” said the baron, looking around for an 
illustration, and then pointing through the window. 

But Desparde noticed that Lord Beaudevere was 
agitated, and he knew that there was something behind 
that the baron kept hidden. 

“Very well, Beaue, we will drop the subject for the 
present. Some time to-day, after we have got back to 
Cloudland and seen Vivienne, you and I will shut our- 
selves up in your study and we will have it out with 
each other. I will give you the whole story of the 
cause of my sudden flight, and you shall tell me the 
story of my infancy, which has ‘ no secret history at 
all,’ but which is well known to all the world — except 
the person most concerned,” laughed Valdimir. 

“ Let us talk of something else,” exclaimed the baron. 
“ Let us talk of something else while they are putting 
the horses to the coach. You have heard of the old 
earl’s death, I presume ?” 

“Yes; accidentally, from Bartholomew, the guard. 
It was sudden, I understand.” 

“ Rather. He was seized with apoplexy on the occa- 
sion of a small dinner party. I was present at the time. 
He had been feeling unwell, however, and had taken 
no wine at all at dinner. So this attack was not pre- 
cipitated in that way.” 

“ How did Lady Arielle bear the shock ?” 

“ With great fortitude, although she was known to 
have been devotedly attached to the old man. Net 
Fleming is staying with her. There is a fine young 
woman, Valdimir.” 


152 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


“ Net who 7" 

‘ Net Fleming. Oh ! I forgot. You have much 
news to hear yet. Net Starr, the rector’s step- daughter, 
is now Mrs. Adrian Fleming.” 

“ Ah ! Ifideed! I met Fleming in New York. He 
never told me he was married,” said Valdimir, in some 
surprise. 

“ Met him in New York, did you ? I knew he was 
abroad, but imagined he was on the Continent, some- 
where ; didn’t know he had crossed the ocean ! Never 
told you of his marriage to little Net Starr ? That was 
strange ! Eccentric fellow ! I sometimes think he is a 
little cracked,” observed the baron. 

“ If so, it is with vanity ! Married Net, did he ! Not 
half good enough for Little Mammam I When were 
they married ?” 

“ Last August, just before the death of the rector ! 
There ! that is another piece of bad news I had to tell 
you. The good Dr. Starr is gone. Died very suddenly ; 
heart disease !” 

“ I am very sorry to hear it !” exclaimed Valdimir. 

“ Well ! what in the deuce do you want, sir ? Did I 
not tell you I would ring if we required any attend- 
ance demanded the baron of the head-waiter, who 
had now entered the room without knocking. 

“ Beg pardon, my lord, but here are two parties ask- 
ing to see Mr. Desparde, my lord,” replied the man, in 
an apologetic tone. 

“ Two parties ? How in the deuce should any 
‘ parties ’ know of Mr. Desparde’s return or presence 
here ? Who are they ?” hotly demanded the baron. 

“ My lord, they are officers of the law.” 

“ Officers of the law ? What officers of the law ?’* 

A constable and a bailiff, my lord.” 


ARRESTED. 


153 


“ I imagine it is all a mistake ; but you had better 
tell the men to come in,” said the baron. 

“ They are here,” replied the waiter ; and in truth 
the officers had been there, behind the waiter, all the 
time, never having lost sight of the man who was 
“ wanted,” from the moment the door had been opened 
at their command. 

They walked into the room and took off their hats to 
the baron. 

Tfie first was a tall, robust, red-bearded man of about 
forty 3^ears of age— one of the constables of the county 
— the other was a stout, black-bearded young fellow of 
about twenty-five, the conductor of the London and 
Northwestern train of the preceding night, who was 
immediately recognized by” Desparde. 

“ It is something in connection with my’ railroad 
journey, after all ! But if there has been accident, or 
assault, or robbery, I am not able to give the slightest 
evidence in the case, for I certainly know nothing 
about i.t, whatever it may be !” said Valdimir, in a 
laughing “ aside ” to his cousin. 

“Well, my men, you wished to see Mr. Desparde. 
There is the gentleman you seek, and I hope your 
business with him can be briefly concluded, for he has 
just returned from abroad, and my carriage is wait- 
ing to take him home,” said the baron, as he indicated 
his cousin. 

The constable bowed in respectful silence, and then 
turning to the conductor, inquired, slightly pointing to 
Desparde : 

“ Is this the party ?” 

“ Yes, that is the man,” replied the latter. 

“ My name is Desparde. What can I do for you ?” 
demanded the young gentleman. 

“I have a painful duty to perform,” said the con- 


154 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


Stable, hesitatingly ; then plucking up his courage he 
laid his hands on the young man’s shoulder, and said 
quickly: “Valdimir Desparde, I arrest you in the 
queen’s name. You are my prisoner.” 

“What !” exclaimed the young man, starting back 
from the degrading touch, and glaring at the constable 
with flashing eyes and pallid face — pallid not from fear, 
but from intense amazement and indignation. 

“ What in the demon’s name is all this about ?” 

“ Will you have the goodness to specify the charge 
upon which Mr. Desparde is arrested ?” haughtily 
demanded Lord Beaudevere, now firmly believing the 
warrant for arrest had been issued under some strange 
and grievous misapprehension. 

‘‘Yes, my lord,” gravely replied the constable. We 
arrest Mr. Desparde on the charge of murder.” 

“ Murder !" echoed Lord Beaudevere. 

“ Murder !” exclaimed Valdimir Desparde. 

They were both too much astonished to add another 
word. 

“ Yes, my lord ; yes, Mr. Desparde ; the murder last 
night in a railway carriage of a young woman who 
was his traveling companion on the London and North- 
western Railway,” exclaimed the constable. 

In an instant the whole truth flashed upon the mind 
of Valdimir Desparde? 

The apparently sleeping, strangely motionless 
woman who had been his sole companion in the com- 
partment by which he had traveled from the Grand 
Junction to the Miston Junction. 

He stood confounded, aghast, as much like a detect- 
ed criminal as a brave and innocent and an honorable 
man could look. 

“ In the name of Heaven, Valdimir, what is the 
meaning of this ? I know, of course, that you are as 


ARRESTED. 


155 


guiltless of that charge as I am myself ! I need scarcely 
tell you that ! But what does this mean ? Can you 
throw any light upon this matter at all ?” inquired the 
baron, in great distress. 

“ I do not know, my lord ! I feel like an unconscious 
sleep-walker caught in a man-trap,” answered the 
young gentleman. 

“ Was there any woman alone in the carriage with 
you, then ?” 

“ There was a woman, who was the sole occupant of 
the carriage into which I was shown by this same 
conductor,” said Valdimir, indicating the man, who 
responded by a nod, “ and who seemed to be fast 
asleep. But whether she were young or middle-aged I 
really could not say. Her figure and attitude were not 
those of an old woman.” 

“ How long were you alone with this woman !” 

“ From midnight until the dawn of day — that is to 
say, from the time I took the London and Northwest- 
ern at the Grand Junction until I changed carriages 
for Miston — a period of six or seven hours, I should 
judge.” 

“ And did she sleep all that time ?” 

“She appeared to sleep most profoundly. She 
never moved one inch all the way. At the Miston 
Branch I left her in precisely the same attitude in 
which I had found her when I entered the compart- 
ment some hours before at the Grand Junction. I 
thought it strange at the time that she should have 
slept so long and so profoundly.” 

“ I beg pardon, my lord ! But if I might suggest, 
having some experience in these cases, I would advise 
your lordship not to lead the young gentleman on to 
talk of this affair just at present. He might do himself 
a mischief,” said the constable, good-naturedly. 


156 


BRANDON COYLES WIFE. 


“ Why, confound yon, sir, do you suppose Mr. 
Desparde has anything to conceal in this matter ?” 
demanded the baron. 

“ I don’t know, my lord ; but I think he had best not 
make any more admissions. And — pardon me, my lord, 
but we must be moving on. I don’t want to be disres- 
pectful, but I must do my duty,” added the officer. 

“ I think, Baron, that the shortest way out of this 
difficulty would be to go immediately before a justice 
of the peace — especially as it seems we have no alter- 
native,” said Valdimir, with a laugh. 

There was no laughter in Lord Beaudevere’s tone as 
he turned to the constable and inquired : 

“ Where will you take him ?” 

“ Before Justice Gatton, sir, who issued the warrant, 
at Yockley, where the murder was first discovered.” 

“ You will go by train ?” 

“ Yes, my lord, by the lo: lo from the Miston Station, 
and we have not got too much time to catch it.” 

“ Very well, I will go with Mr. Desparde and see him 
through this misadventure, for it is nothing else. Wait 
a moment.” 

Then the baron rang for writing materials and wrote 
a hasty note to Miss Desparde, telling her that her 
brother had reached Miston in perfect health and excel- 
lent spirits, but that they v/ere both called to Yockley on 
unexpected business and could not return to Cloudland 
before evening. 

‘ There !” said the baron, handing the note over to 
Valdimir Desparde, “ I think that will prevent Vivienne 
from feeling any anxiety on our account, unless she 
hears the worst from rumor.” 

“ 1 do not think she will do that. These men have 
been discreet. Even the waiter that admitted them did 
not know they bore a warrant,” replied Desparde. 


HOW THE MURDER WAS DISCOVERED. 


157 


This was true, and so a few minutes later, Yates, the 
coachman, was sent back with the carriage to Cloud- 
land and the note to Vivienne Despardp, and Valdimir 
Desparde, accompanied by his cousin. Lord Beaudevere, 
was on the train going North, in custody of the con- 
stable, without having left any suspicion behind him 
that the heir of Cloudland had been arrested on the ter- 
rible charge of murder. 


CHAPTER XV. 

HOW THE' MURDER WAS DISCOVERED. 

All murders past do stand excused in this— 

And this so sole and so unmatchable 
Shall prove a deadly bloodshed but a jest, 

Exampled by this heinous spectacle. 

Shakespeare. 

Fearless he sees who is with virtue crowned 
The tempest rage and hears the thunder sound — 

Ever the same, though fortune smile or frown. 

Granville. 

It was inevitable that the murder of the girl in the 
railway carriage must have been speedily discovered. 

It was broad daylight when the train reached Yock- 
ley. 

A group of ladies and children stood on the platform 
waiting to get seats. 

The guard, seeing them, and knowing that the 
“reserved” compartment, “reserved” no longer, was 
the only vacant one on the train, went and opened the 


158 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


door, put out the lamp, and turned to the new pas- 
sengers. 

“ Ladies’ carriage, guard,” said the matron who 
appeared to be the mother of the group. 

“ All right, mum, here you are ! Only one lady in 
the carriage, and no gentlemen. Plenty of room, 
mum !” answered the official, lifting the children in 
one by one, and then assisting two young ladies and 
finally the matron into the compartment. 

The last-mentioned was stout and clumsy, and pitched 
about for a moment, and then stumbled and fell ; but 
in falling she threw out her hand to save herself, and 
struck upon the form of poor Kit. 

Something “ swashed ” as she afterwards described 
it, like wet clothes in a wash-tub when pressed upon. 

She recovered her equilibrium and dropped into her 
seat ; but that of the poor murdered girl had been dis- 
turbed, and the body swayed helplessly and sank heav- 
ily against the matron, who gave it a vigorous “ hunch,” 
as she exclaimed : 

“ Sit up, my dear ! Or wake up, if you are asleep — 
you scrouge me !” 

But at the same instant the woman looked at her 
glove, and the young lady on the opposite seat looked 
on the supposed sleeper, and both awoke the welkin 
with piercing shrieks, shriek upon shriek, as they burst 
open the door and sprang tumultuously out of the car- 
riage, followed by the terrified and screaming children. 

The whole station was aroused and came crowding to 
the door of the compartment around the distracted 
group of women and children. 

“ What’s up ? what’s up ?” demanded the guard, who 
was the first on the spot. 

” Oh, in there ! in there !” was all the pale and trem- 
bling women could utter. 


HOW THE MURDER WAS DISCOVERED. 


159 


“ It is — it is — ” began one of the young girls ; but 
she could get no farther. 

“ In the compartment— in there ! It’s dead ! It’s a 
corpse !” cried a child of twelve years old, who seemed 
to have better possession of her senses than all the rest. 

The startled guard entered the carriage — but sprang 
back as if he had been shot ! 

He closed and locked the door, and rushed across 
the track to the office of the station-master. 

The train was to be delayed for five minutes, and 
this delay must be telegraphed up and down the road 
to insure the safety of all on that route. 

Then back to the bloody scene, followed by station- 
master, ticket-agent, policemen, porters and passengers. 

And the compartment was opened and its horrors 
revealed. 

The babel of voices was hushed now ! 

Some one had taken a door off its hinges and Drought 
it to the spot. 

The guard and a constable entered the compartment 
and raised the body of the unfortunate girl, and bore 
it out and laid it on the door. Two porters were called 
to lift it, and while the constable made way through 
the crowd, it was borne across the track and into the 
largest room of the railway station. 

The carriage containing the fatal compartment was 
detached from the train, switched off the road and run 
into a safe place to await the action of the coroner, and 
the carriages next before and after were run together 
and locked, and so the sequence was complete again. 

The guard of that train was detained as a witness 
and another guard was put on duty, and then the train 
went on its way. 

All this w^as done with railway celerity and within 
the stipulated five minutes’ grace. 


160 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


The sun was now above the horizon, and all Yockley 
— that is to say, the industrious and laboring portion of 
Yockley — was up and about its business. But little 
business was done after the news of the murder in the 
railway carriage was bruited abroad. 

The coroner had been promptly summoned, but the 
crowd gathered before the coroner came. 

By order of that officer, the body was removed to the 
Tawny Lion Tavern, where it was laid out in the large 
public hall, used often for such purposes in case of rail- 
way accidents, and a jury was summoned and impan- 
nelled to hold an inquest. 

A post-mortem examination was ordered by Coroner 
Locke, and made by Dr. Lowe, the village practitioner, 
and his assistants, who proved that death had been 
caused by a wound through the heart, inflicted by some 
fine, sharp, three-edged instrument. 

The witnesses were Mrs. Bottom, Miss Bottom, and 
Miss Ann Jane Bottom, who had first discovered the 
dead body in the carriage, and who, with all the chil- 
dren of their party, had had their journey temporarily 
interrupted, and were now stopping at the Tawny Lion, 
in attendance on the inquest. 

On a long table, some few feet in front of this one, 
lay the body of the murdered girl, covered over with a 
sheet. 

One witness, the guard who had been on duty that 
fatal night, was already called to the stand and under- 
going examination. 

To the questions of the coroner he answered : 

“Name, Thomas Potter; occupation, guard on the 
London and Northwestern Railway. Was on duty last 
night." 

“Will you tell the jury what you know of this case?" 
inquired the coroner. 


HOW THE MURDER WAS DISCOVERED. 


161 


“Yes, sir. Was on duty, as I had the honor of say- 
ing, last night. Train left Paddington Station at 3:50. 
Just before she left observed a gentleman in an ulster, 
with his black cap pulled down low on his brows ; 
had a lady in a long, waterproof cloak, on his arm ; was 
looking for seats and the train about to start. I showed 
them to an empty compartment, and asked the gentle- 
man if he would like to reserve it, for I thought the two 
were bride and groom.” 

“ Never mind about your thoughts, guard ; let us 
have the facts,” said the coroner. 

“ Yes, sir. Gentleman did reserve the compartment 
to himself and his companion. I didn’t notice the gen- 
tleman’s face to recognize it then, sir, for the train had 
not left the station and the light was bad.” 

“ Did you recognize him afterwards ?” inquired one of 
the jurymen. 

“Later on, sir, I did ; but it was much later on ; for, 
though the gentleman got out at one or two stations, 
he kept the collar of his coat up and the visor of his 
cap down, so that I did not recognize him ; but really 
I did not take much notice. It was not until we got to 
the Grand Junction that I saw him to know him. He 
got out and went into the refreshment-room, and stayed 
a few minutes, and then came out again ; and as I 
opened the door for him he turned down the collar of 
his ulster and took off his cap, as if he^was too warm, 
and then I saw he was Mr. Valdimir Desparde.” 

The announcement of this name caused a murmur of 
surprise throughout the crowd, for the Baron Beaude- 
vere and the heir of Cloudland were known all along 
this line. 

“ Are you sure of what you say, witness ?” inquired 
the coroner. 

“ Perfectly sure, sir ! I wish to Heaven I wasn’t ! 


162 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


I have known Mr. Valdimir Desparde by sight ever 
since he was a boy. He used to travel by this route 
many times a year.” 

“ Remember you are under oath.” 

“I do remember it, sir ; and I can swear to the fact 
that the gentleman who reserved the compartment on 
my train last night for himself and the young woman 
who was afterwards found murdered on it, was Mr. Val- 
dimir Desparde, and no other,” replied the guard. 

“ And from the time that Mr. Desparde reserved this 
compartment at Paddington, until the time when the 
murder was discovered at Yockley Station, did any 
other person except Mr. Desparde and the young 
woman who was his companion enter that compart- 
ment ?” inquired the foreman of the jury. 

“ Not a single soul, sir.” 

“ How can you be sure of that ?” 

“ Because, the compartment being reserved, I watched 
it at every station, locked the door when the gentleman 
came out, and unlocked it again when he wished to 
come in.” 

“ How was it, then, that you admitted so large a 
party into this reserved compartment as this one that 
discovered the murder ?” inquired the coroner. 

“ Because I had missed the gentleman ever since the 
train left the Miston Junction, and after it had passed 
several stations I discovered that he was nowhere on 
board of her. When we reached this station and found 
a large party of women and children, and not a vacant 
seat on the train except in that reserved compartment, 
where there were seven empty, and one occupied only 
by a sleeping woman, I opened the door and put them 
into it, and had scarcely gone ten steps away before 
they all burst shrieking out of the carriage. The mur- 
der was discovered.” 


HOW THE MURDER WAS DISCOVERED. 163 

Many more questions were put to the guard, without 
changing the aspect of the old facts as related by him, 
or eliciting any new ones. 

His testimony was very damaging to Valdimir Des- 
parde. 

Miss Ann Jane Bottom, being called upon to testify, 
went into hysterics and had to be taken out. 

Miss Maria Bottom had not noticed anything at all 
until she was hustled out of the compartment by her 
screaming mother and sister. 

But the inquest was not over yet. The jury wished 
to examine the inside of the carriage, that up to this 
moment had remained locked and guarded by a con- 
stable. 

Way was cleared for them to leave the hall, and they 
went in a body to the station where the carriage was 
left. 

The compartment was then as thoroughly searched 
as its shocking condition would permit ; but nothing 
was found in it except a small gold pencil-case marked 
with the initials V. D., and a traveling-bag apparently 
the property of the dead woman. 

These things were taken possession of by the coroner 
and carried back to the hall in the Tawny Lion, where 
the inquest was resumed. 

Then it was thought advisable that the body of the 
murdered girl should be viewed, that it might if possi- 
ble be identified by some one. 

Accordingly arrangements were made so that the 
crowd should file in an orderly manner by the right- 
hand door, pass around the table on which the body 
was laid, and down and out by the left-hand door. 

This procession occupied a full hour. 

But among the hundreds of curious people that viewed 
the body only one recognized it. This was a young 


164 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


man named Edward Hetley, who had once been a rail- 
way porter at the Miston Station, since transferred to 
Yockley. 

He identified the body as that of Christelle Ken, the 
daughter of James Ken, fisherman on the Miston coast. 

When the inspection was over and all the testimony 
taken, the coroner summed up the evidence. 

He was a plain, straightforward man, this village 
coroner, and his speech was brief and to the point. 

The case was a very .simple one, he said, and would 
give the jury but little trouble. 

The “ intelligent jury ” consulted about ten minutes, 
and returned a verdict in accordance with the evident 
facts of the case, to the effect that — 

“The deceased, Christelle Ken, came to her death 
through a wound in the heart, inflicted by a sharp- 
pointed instrument held in the hands of Valdimir Des- 
parde.” 

As soon as the verdict was made known, the magis- 
trate present, Mr. George Gatton, issued a warrant for 
the apprehension of Valdimir Desparde, and dispatched 
a constable, accompanied by the railway guard, to 
Miston for the purpose of executing it. 

At the same time a notification of his daughter’s 
death was sent to James Ken. 

When the hall was cleared of men, the women of the 
house were admitted to it. They brought with them 
hot water and clean white clothing to prepare the 
remains of poor Kit for the coffin in which it was to be 
sent home to her friends. 

The women, when they had done their work, silently 
covered it over and withdrew from the hall, leaving it 
in perfect order. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


VALDIMIR- DRSPARDE’s EXAMINATION. 

No change comes o’er his steadfast brow, 

Though ruin is around him ; 

His eye-beam burns as proudly now 
As if the laurel crowned him. Child. 

He, undismayed 

And calm, can meet his coming destiny 

In all its pleasing or appalling shapes. 

Watts. 

At the baron’s request, and, therefore, of course, at 
the baron’s expense, the Yockley constable had taken a 
whole compartment for the accommodation of his party 
on the train that left Miston Station for Miston Junction 
at io:io that morning. 

At the Junction where they changed carriages for 
Yockley he had done the same thing on the same terms, 
thus securing privacy for his party, and protecting them 
from the glances and the comments of any fellow-pas- 
sengers. 

It was twelve o’clock when they reached the Yockley 

[165J 


166 


BRANDON OOYLE’s WIFE. 


Station, where, to their great annoyance, they found a 
large crowd assembled. 

Seeing the multitude, the constable sent the guard 
out alone to engage a close cab. 

When this was done the party alighted quietly, entered 
the cab, and were driven off, unsuspected by the mob. 

Meanwhile, the cab containing the party was driven 
rapidly towards the suburbs of the village and through 
a piece of woods to ^‘Gatton’s Hope,’' the seat of Joseph 
Gatton, Esq., one of the justices of the peace for the 
shire, and before whom the preliminary examination 
was to be held. 

They drove up a winding avenue that led through 
the grass-grown and sparsely wooded p^rk, and drew 
up before a substantial gray-stone house of three 
stories, with three rows of windows on the front and a 
broad pair of doors in the middle of lower front. 

The constable and the guard alighted first, followed 
closely by Lord Beaudevere and Mr. Desparde. 

The constable knocked and the door was immediately 
opened, and the whole party was at once admitted by 
a footman in waiting, who led them to a large room in 
the rear of the hall, known as the Justice Room, and 
furnished with oak’en book-cases filled with law litera- 
ture, stout oaken benches and chairs and a long table, 
placed crosswise at the farthest end, covered with 
green cloth and laden with law books, blank-books, 
and stationery of every description. 

Behind this table, in three high-backed chairs, sat 
three men. The one in the middle was Squire Gatton, 
a tall, thin, florid-faced, red-haired, and red-bearded 
man, with a careworn but not unkind face. 

On his right was a brother magistrate, Burke of 
Burkehurst, a typical, old-fashioned, round-bodied, bull- 
necked, bullet-headed country squire. 


VALDIMIR DESPARDE’s EXAMINATION. 167 

Near them sat Coroner Locke, who had conducted 
the first inquest at the Tawny Lion Tavern. 

Seated in chairs at some little distance in front of the 
table were the witnesses that had been summoned — 
Mrs. Bottom and her two daughters, who had first dis- 
covered the murder, and Dr. Low^e and his two assist- 
ants, who had made the post-mortem examination. 

Waiting about the room where several bailiffs. 

The constable, walking in advance of his party, 
handed the warrant to Mr. Gatton with a bow, and 
announced the prisoner in a low tone, and then fell 
back among the other officers in waiting. 

Squire Gatton raised his eyes, and seeing Lord 
Beaudevere, with whom he had some slight acquaint- 
ance, standing by the prisoner, and knowing his rela- 
tionship to Valdimir Desparde, colored with sympa- 
thetic shame as he arose and held out his hand across 
the table, saying : 

How do you do, my lord ? I cannot say that I am 
glad to see your lordship here. I am extremely sorry. 
This is a most painful affair.” 

“ It would be ‘ a most painful affair ’ if it were not so 
exquisitely absurd ! The idea of Mr. Valdimir Des- 
parde being arrested upon such a charge, under any 
possible circumstances, is so very preposterous that 
even the fact that he has but just landed on the shores 
of England, after a nearly seven months’ absence, can 
add nothing to its outrageous absurdity !” said the 
baron, in a tone of sarcasm, slightly dashed with indig- 
nation, as he took the offered hand of the magistrate 
and dropped it again. 

“ I hope it will turn out to have been a mistake, my 
lord,” replied the latter, and he bowed now in return to 
the bow of Mr. Desparde. 

“You ^ hope ?' Wliy, you must know it will! But 


168 


BRANDON COYLE' S WIFE. 


let me ask one favor of you, Mr. Gatton : that you will 
proceed with the case at once and get through with it 
as quickly as possible. Mr. Desparde, as I had the 
honor of telling you before, has just returned from 
abroad and has not as yet had the opportunity of seeing 
any of his relatives or friends except myself. He is 
naturally anxious to greet his sister, and also — hem I — 

‘ A nearer one yet and a dearer one.’ 

Consider that, Mr. Gatton, and let us off as soon as you 
can,” said the baron, lightly. 

“ I will do so. Lord Beaudevere. Pray be seated,” 
replied the magistrate. 

The baron and his young cousin sat down in chairs 
pointed out by a bailiff. 

The magistrate immediately took up the warrant, 
glanced over it, and said : 

“ Mr. Valdimir Desparde.” 

The young gentleman arose and walked up to the 
table. 

“ You are herein charged with having, on the night of 
Wednesday, December the fifteenth, in a compartment 
of a railway carriage on the London and Northwestern 
Railway, assaulted and killed one Christelle Ken, a young 
woman of Miston, by stabbing her through the heart 
with some sharp-pointed instrument. What have you 
to say to this charge ?” 

” Why, that it is utterly false and ridiculous. I do 
not even know the girl in question, and could have no 
reason whatever for wishing to injure her,” replied 
Valdimir Desparde, with a slight smile, for notwith- 
standing the gravity of the surroundings he could not 
help feeling as if that terrible charge made against 
himself was really too monstrous in its absurdity to 
merit a serious response. 


VALDIMIR DESPARDe’s EXAMINATION. 


169 


“ I hope that you maybe able to disprove the charge, 
sir. I do, with all my soul,” said the magistrate, sol- 
emnly. 

“ Oh, bring on your witnesses, Mr. Gatton, and let 
us have this farce over,” said Lord Beaudevere, impa- 
tiently. 

The magistrate bowed, and signalled his clerk, who 
called out : 

“ Thomas Potter !” 

The railway guard left his seat and came and stood 
before the table. 

The guard gave the same astounding evidence that 
he furnished to the coroner’s jury. The guard was 
followed by the Bottoms, who, in turn, were succeeded 
by the man who had identified the body. 

The evidence of the pencil with the initials V. D. 
was also exploited. 

This closed the evidence against the accused. 

Then the magistrate turning towards the prisoner, 
said, very gravely : 

“ Mr. Desparde, you have heard the testimony upon 
which you have been charged with the murder of the 
young woman, one Christelle Ken. What have you 
now to show in rebuttal of this testimony ?” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE RESULT. 

Had it pleased Heaven 
To try me with afflictions ; had He rained 
All kinds of sores and shames on my bare head ; 
Steeped me in poverty to the very lips ; 

Given to captivity me and my utmost hopes, 

1 should have found, in some part of my soul, 

A drop of patience ; but, alas ! to make me 
A fixed figure for the hand of scorn 
To point her slow, unmoving finger at ! 

Shakespeare. 

Come ! Rouse thee now ! I know thy mind. 

And would its strength awaken ! 

Proud, gifted, ardent, noble, kind — 

Strange thou shouldst be so shaken ! 

Anna Peyres Dinnies. 

Valdimir Desparde arose, bowed slightl}^ and said: 

“ Squire Gatton, I have really scarcely given this 
V accusation any serious attention. Terrible as it cer- 
tainly is, it seems much too preposterous, as applied 
to myself, to be entertained for a single instant. 

“ I know nothing whatever of this unfortunate girl 
whom I am accused of having murdered, never hav- 
[170] 


THE RESULT. 


171 


ing seen her face, to my knowledge, in the whole course 
of my life. 

“ I have been in the United States for the last seven 
months and returned to England only yesterday. I 
had best perhaps give you a succinct account of my 
movements from the hour of my landing. 

“ 1 landed by the steamer Colorado^ from New York 
on the third, at Southampton, at five o’clock yesterday 
morning. Immediately after leaving the ship I went 
to a telegraph office and dispatched a telegram to my 
cousin here to send some vehicle to meet me at the 
Miston Station at seven this morning.” 

“ Which I duly received and acted upon. Little 
time left for him to plan and execute a midnight 
murder, I should judge !” put in Lord Beaudevere. 

“ I did not lose more than an hour in the town ; but 
after a hasty breakfast at the counter of the refresh- 
ment-room, I took the six-seven train of the London 
and Southwestern Railway with a through ticket in 
conjunction with the Northwestern, and came straight 
on until I reached the Grand Junction.” 

‘‘ Where that other fellow, the real assassin — perdition 
catch him — ^jumped off the other train and made his 
escape, leaving his trap empty for Desparde to run his 
unlucky head into ?” exclaimed the baron. 

“ I think my cousin, Lord Beaudevere, is quite right in 
his theory of this case. Squire Gatton and gentlemen. 
At any rate I got out of my train at the Grand Junction, 
and in crossing over to the other one I certainly met a 
party dressed exactly as I was dressed, in the same sort 
of long, black ulster, down to his heels, with its high 
collar turned up to his temples, and the same sort of 
black, slouched hat pulled down over his eyes. Casting 
the eyes of my memory back upon this man, I see that 
he was of the same height and figure as myself^ and 


172 


BRANDON OOYLe’s WIFE. 


might, by a casual observer, have been mistaken for 
me. He was hurrying towards the Southampton down- 
train that was just in.” 

That was the very fellow. He had done his das- 
tardly deed, and was just making his escape to the sea- 
port to get out of the country !” triumphantly exclaimed 
the baron. 

His theory seemed to strike the magistrate and his 
assistants favorably. They looked at each other and 
nodded. 

“Go on, if you please, Mr. Desparde,” said Squire 
Gatton. 

“ As I approached the Northwestern train I perceived 
a guard, whom I knew by sight — Thomas Potter, who 
has testified against me in this case — standing by the 
door of the middle compartment in a first-class car- 
riage, precisely as though he were waiting for some one 
to come up — ” 

“ Waiting for that other fellow, of course,” put in the 
irrepressible baron. 

“ He hailed me somewhat familiarly, as though he 
expected me, or some one whom he took me to be.” 

“ Of course he did ! took you to be the other fellow, 
confound them both I” interpolated the excited baron. 

“ What did he say to you ? How did he address you 
— by your own or any other name ?” inquired Mr. 
Gatton. 

Valdimir Desparde reflected for a moment, and then 
answered, though with some hesitation still : 

“ N-no, I think he used no name. He hailed me, I 
think, with ‘ All right, sir ! Here you are ! Look 
sharp, sir, if you please ! She’s off,’ or words to that 
effect. I, thinking the man had either recognized me, 
as I certainly had him, or else that he was taking 
unusual pains to secure a passenger his seat, hastened 


^HE RESULT. 


1Y3 

tny steps and got into the compartment. Then the 
guard added these words — very significant to me, in the 
light of what has happened since, though at the moment 
I supposed he merely referred to his catching sight of me 
coming towards the train, recognizing me as an old 
acquaintance and being anxious to secure me a seat — 
he said, in fact, this : ‘ All right noiv ! I waited here 
for you ; but 1 really was afraid you would miss it this 
time !’ And he shut the door and the train started.” 

” Of course, he waited for the other fellow who had 
committed the crime in that compartment and run 
away ! He took you for the other fellow. It is all as 
clear as daylight k Or else — or else — and by my life, 
the point is worth considering — he was in complicity 
with the other, and caught you in this trap to favor his 
escape !” exclaimed the baron. 

All within hearing were quite startled by this new 
view of the case. 

The magistrate and his colleague whispered together. 

Things were beginning to look shady for the prin- 
cipal witness in this case. 

In fact, Valdimir Desparde’s clear and simple story 
of his own movements since he arrived in England, 
together with the running comments of Lord Beaude- 
vere, had made an impression on all present, which was 
much deepened by the last weighty suggestion of the 
baron. 

Squire Gatton and Burke of Burkehurst continued to 
converse for a few minutes longer, though in so low a 
tone that no one could hear the purport of their con- 
versation. 

At length, however, the magistrate straightened him- 
self up and said : 

“Will Mr. Desparde now proceed with his narra- 
tive ?” 


174 


BRANDON COYLE *S WIFE. 


Valdimir Desparde bowed and continued : 

“ I come now to the most important part of my story. 
I entered the compartment, as I said, just as the train 
started. I observed that the light of the lamp was 
turned down. At first, in the gloom, I saw no one, and 
naturally supposed that I was alone. I reached to put 
up the light, and, in doing so, heard something drop. I 
stooped to see what had fallen, but could not find any- 
thing ; raised myself again to put up the light, but was 
arrested by the sight of a woman, wrapped closely up 
in a dark cloak, and reclining in a corner. Her face 
was turned sidewise, and covered with a thick, black 
vail. She was apparently sound asl^p. Thinking that 
this woman had turned down the light to favor her own 
slumbers, I left it as she had put it, and took my seat 
on the opposite side in the corner diagonally across 
from her own, so that I might not in any way disturb 
her repose. I forebore to search for what I had 
dropped, putting off doing so for a more convenient 
time, when my unknown companion should be awake. 
Then I forgot all about it, having more important sub- 
jects to think of. Afterwards I missed my gold pencil- 
case, which had become in some way detached from my 
chain. This would seem a trifling detail. Squire, but 
that it accounts for my pencil-case being found in that 
compartment.” 

“ Of course it does. Mark that, gentlemen,” observed 
the baron. 

“ The woman continued to sleep, and I, never sus- 
pecting that hers was the sleep of death, lapsed into 
reverie until the train stopped at one of the principal 
stations, where the guard came to the door and civilly 
offered his services to fetch anything from the refresh- 
ment-room that I wished. I told him that I wanted 
nothing. He then asked if the ‘ lady ’ — meaning my 


THE RESULT. 


175 


fellow-passenger — would like anything. I replied that 
she appeared to be asleep.” 

“ While the guard yet stood at the door of the com- 
partment a party came up to get on the train, and asked 
if it was engaged. He answered ‘Yes,’ shut the door 
quickly, and conveyed them off to some other carriage 
before I could call after him to tell him that there was 
a plenty of room inside, and the train started again.” 

“That infernal scoundrel had entrapped into that 
compartment, and he meant to take every precaution to 
fix the murder on you in order to secure the escape of 
the real assassin ! Squire, I hope you will issue a 
warrant for the arrest of Thomas Potter !” exclaimed 
Lord Beaudevere, growing more excited. 

“ I will consider your counsel, my lord, and, in the 
meantime, we would like to hear Mr. Desparde go on 
with his statement,” said the magistrate, by way of a 
gentle reminder that the accused man had the floor for 
the present. 

“ The woman slept on and I relapsed into thought. 
The train stopped at several more stations. I got out 
at one or two to stretch my limbs, but my companion 
never awoke, nor ever changed her position.” 

Here Squire Burke of Burkehurst leaned forward and 
opened his mouth for about the first time during the 
examination, and said : 

“ Excuse me, Mr. Desparde, but by this time did not 
the long and profound sleep of this woman, who never 
even once changed her position, as even the soundest 
sleepers are wont to do, appear unnatural to you, so as 
to excite some suspicion in your mind ?” 

“ At last it did ; but it was a suspicion of alcohol or 
opium intoxication, or stupor, certainly no suspicion of 
murder, or even of suicide,” replied Valdimir Desparde. 

“ That is all. Thanks. Proceed, if you please, sir,” 


176 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


said Squire Burke, sinking back into his easy-chair and 
easier silenc§. 

Valdimir Desparde resumed : 

“ This state of things continued in the compartment 
until daylight, by which time the train had reached the 
Miston Branch Station, where I got off to take theMis- 
ton Special. For the first time since I had taken the 
train I missed seeing my too attentive guard, who must 
have been held in temporary thralldom by some exact- 
ing passenger, or he would certainly have been on 
hand. I left the motionless woman in the compart- 
ment, wondering carelessly how long she would sleep, 
and I hurried across the platforms to take the other 
train, which I secured just as it steamed out of the 
station. I came on to Miston without adventure of any 
sort, and was met at that place by my cousin here.” 

“ Yes, sir ; and he looked as little like a man who had 
just committed a midnight murder as it is possible to 
conceive,” added Lord Beaudevere. 

“ That is all I have to tell — all, indeed, that there is 
to be told of my movements since my return from 
abroad. And now I would like to have Thomas Potter, 
the railway guard, recalled and confronted with me 
here,” concluded Mr. Desparde, as he bowed and 
resumed his seat. 

“ Officer, call Thomas Potter,” said the magistrate. 

“ Thomas Potter !” called the bailiff, in a stentorian 
voice. 

The railway guard, who had been in the “jus- 
tice-room ” all the time, and had heard every word that 
had been said in his disfavor, now came forward, not a 
whit discomposed by the suspicion that had been cast 
upon him. He was an honest and a fearless man, as 
times go. At least he had nothing to do with the 


THE KESULT. 


177 


assassination in the railway carriage, and the conscious- 
ness that he had not supported him. 

The guard stoutly adhered to the testimony already 
given that he recognized the companion of the mur- 
dered woman to be Valdimir Desparde. No cross- 
examination could shake him. 

In the face of the evidence so far given, Judge 
Gatton was obliged, much against his wish, to commit 
the unfortunate young man for trial at the assizes, 
without bail. 

Then our hero was hurried off to a cell. Lord Beau- 
devere followed, explained that as his young relative 
was only waiting trial, he wished to have him made as 
comfortable as possible, and that they were willing to 
pay for all lawful accommodations. 

The warden replied that he would be glad to talk 
to his lordship on the subject next morning, but that 
now the hour had come when the prison doors were 
about to be closed for the night. 

Lord Beaudevere bowed to the inevitable, wrung his 
young cousin’s hand, and departed. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

A STORM OF TROUBLE. 

The billows swell, the winds are hi^h, 

Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; 

Out of the depths to Thee I call, 

My fears are great, my strength is small. 

Oh, thou the pilot’s part perform. 

And guard and guide me through the storm, 

Defend me from each threatened ill. 

Control the waves — say, “ Peace, be still." 

Amidst the roaring of the sea. 

My soul still hangs her hope on Thee ; 

Thy constant love, benignant care. 

Is all that saves me from despair. 

COWPER. 

“When is the next train for the Miston Branch Junc- 
tion ?" inquired the baron of the cabman, as he issued 
from the prison doors, leaving his unfortunate young 
cousin behind him. 

“ At six-thirty," replied the man, springing off his 
box, and opening the cab door for his lordship. 

“ I will pay you an extra half-crown if you catch it," 
said the baron, as he sprang into the cab and took his 
seat. 


[178] 


A STORM OF TROUBLE. 


179 


The driver closed the door, climbed to his box, and 
set his horses off at a brisk trot. 

Passing through the village towards the station they 
overtook a sad procession — James Ken, the fisherman, 
walking beside a slowly-moving hearse that evidently 
contained the coffin of his unhappy daughter, on its 
way to the same train which his lordship was trying to 
catch. 

Notwithstanding the haste he was in, the baron 
ordered the cabman to pull up. 

Then he put down the window and hailed the fisher- 
man : 

“ Ken, step this way, if you please.” 

James Ken was a huge, broad-shouldered, red-haired, 
ruddy-faced man, clothed in a blue tweed jacket and 
trousers, and an oilskin hat, and he walked heavily, 
with his head held down in a very dejected manner. 

“ Get in here, Ken, and ride with me. I wish to talk 
with you,” said the baron, as the fisherman approached 
him. 

Ken touched his hat, and looked as if he did not 
understand the invitation. 

“ I also am going to the Miston train ; get in and ride 
with me, or you will miss it. You had better order the 
hearseman to drive a little faster also,” said the baron, 
pushing open the cab door. 

The poor fisherman, too much absorbed in his grief 
to make any objection or hold any argument, got into 
the cab, and sat down as far from the baron on the 
seat as the limited space would allow. 

The latter gave the order and the cab went on, fol- 
lowed by the hearse. 

“ This is a very sad affair, Ken. I deeply sympathize 
with you,” said the baron. 

The man burst out crying, and sobbed like a child. 


180 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ ‘ Sad ’ beant the wiirrud, my lord,” said Ken, as 
soon as he could use his voice, through his tears. ‘‘ It 
— it — moight be called ‘ sad ’ if we lost a bairn in the 
nat’rel way, though we knowed the Lord tuk it straight 
to heaven ; but to hev moy pore gell murdered loike 
this — ” 

Here the man’s voice broke down in sobs. 

Lord Beaudevere looked on in silence. He could 
find nothing to say to grief like this. 

“ It is — it is — tarrible, my lord ! It is orrful ! 
Orrful !” 

“ I know it ! I feel it, Ken ! I wish I could do 
something for you. If there be any way in the world, 
Kqn, to which I can help you, I shall be glad to do it,” 
said the baron, gently. 

“ I thank yo, my lord ; I know yo wud. Yor good- 
ness be known to the country-side.” 

“ Then let me know what I can do for you, Ken.” 

Yo cannot do naught, my lord. Nobbut He above,” 
said the man, reverently bowing his head — “ nobbut 
He above can help me. It ’s a gret sorrow, my lord — a 
gret sorrow. And the mither ! Oh, the mither !” 

“ She takes it pretty hard, then ?” 

She dunnot know the warst yet. She thinks — the 
mither do — thet the lass deed a nat’rel deeth. If I cud 
keep it from her, my lord, she shud never know other 
ways.” 

“ Try to keep it from her, Ken,” said the baron. 

“No use, my lord. The neebor fowke are sure to 
foind out all aboot it, and they wud be fain to burst it 
on her sudden, and thet wud kill the mither. No, my 
lord, Oi must put it to her moyself as easy as Oi can. 
Oi ’m thinking it mun kill her anyways.” 

“ Ken,” whispered the baron, “ have you any cause to 
suspect any particular person of this great crime ?” 


A STOKM OF TROUBLE. 


181 


“ Ay, my lord, an’ it’s more than suspeck I do ! Oi 
know who killed moy gell ! ” replied the man, as his 
whole honest face darkened in deep wrath. 

“ Who do you think it was, Ken ?” inquired Lord 
Beaudevere. 

The man looked into his lordship’s eyes with a pecu- 
liar expression of malignity and answered : 

“ It wur him Oi mean to bring to the gallows if it 
teks all moy loife and all my means to do it.” 

“ Would you mind telling me whom you suspect, or 
know it to be, then, Ken ?” 

“ No, Oi dunnot moind ! Who wud it be but thet 
grend vilyun — begging your lordship’s pardon for the 
word — thet Muster Brendon Corle ! Who but him wot 
woiled moy gell away under a false marriage, and then 
wanted to make way with her to marry the gret leddy 
up to the castle ? Ou ay ! Oi hev heard all about it, 
my lord. The whole country side be ringing with it. 
It wur him, my lord.” 

“ I think so too ! I certainly think so too ! Do you 
know whom they have accused of this murder, Ken ?” 

“ Ay, my lord ! Oi know they hev tried to put it on 
a gentleman as innocent of it as Oi am moyself, your 
lordship. Wot hed/ie to do with slaying moy gell ? Oi 
dunnot believe he even knowed her by soight.” 

“ I am sure he did not. But, Ken, do you know any- 
thing of the movements of this fellow Coyle ?” 

“ Me know of his movements, my lord .? No, my lord, 
Oi dunnot. If Oi did know where he was this present 
toime he should be in jail or in burning brimstone 
before morning !” said the man, in a deep, wrathful 
tone. 

“ Will you tell me all you know of this affair between 
Coyle and your daughter, Ken ?” gently requested the 
baron. 


182 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


‘‘ Oi 'd tell yo if Oi ^/^know, my lord. But Oi dnn- 
not know no more ’n your lordship and all the country 
side knows, and not so mooch, mebby. All Oi know be 
just wot kem out at t’ old 'arl’s will-reading-, up at t’ 
castle. It is loike a menny knows more ’n Oi do.” 

The cab was just drawing up before the railway 
station, and the cabman sprang down from his seat and 
opened the door. 

The baron alighted, followed by the fisherman. 

“ Oi thank your lordship humbly, for your kindness 
to me,” said the latter. “ Oi ought to tell yor lordship 
how mooch good it did me — how Oi needed it. Yo see, 
my lord, Oi cud hardly stand, mooch less walk, wen 
yo tuk me oop. Eh, my lord, wot hae happened to her 
tuk all the power and strength out o’ moy limbs, able- 
bodied mon as Oi was.” 

“ You were very welcome, Ken. I was very glad to^ 
help you,” returned the baron, as he put his hand in his 
pocket and drew out his portemonnaie to pay the cab- 
man. 

They saw by the railway clock over the door of the 
station that they had still ten minutes to spare. 

When the baron had settled with the cabman he still 
held his portemonnaie in his hand. He knew how poor 
this man Ken really was ; how ill he could afford the 
expenses that he was now incurring, yet he hesitated to 
do what his kind and simple heart prompted — to offer 
Ken pecuniary assistance — for he knew and respected 
the honest pride of this man. 

At this moment the hearse that had followed the cab 
at a short distance behind arrived and drew up. 

“ Oi wish yor lordship good-day. Oi mun go and 
see it put on the freight van,” said Ken, touching his 
hat and moving towards the hearse. 

This motion brought the baron to a quick decision. 


A STORM OF TROUBLE. 


183 


“ Hi ! Ken ! Here ! One moment !” he called after 
the retreating man. 

Ken touched his hat to his lordship and came back. 

“Ken, the highest authority in the universe tells us 
that ‘ all men are brethren.’ We know it to be true, 
and when trouble comes then we feel it to be true. 
And, Ken, brethren should help one another, and I 
know if I happened to fall overboard from my boat, 
and you were near, you would fish me out and save 
my life — wouldn’t you, now !’’ 

“ Sartain my lord ; it would be moy duty and moy 
pleasure,” answered the man, staring a little with won- 
der at what this could have to do with the affairs of 
the present. 

“ Very well, then, Ken. I hope, as you are in deep 
water now, you will let me help you out,” said the 
baron, putting a closely-folded bank-note for ten 
pounds in the hands of the man. 

“ But, moy lord, moy lord — ” began Ken, looking 
from the face of the baron down upon the note in his 
hand, which he refused to close upon it. 

“ Now, Ken, my friend, we have got no time to 
argue the point. Do you think if I were in deep 
water, and you from your boat held out your hand to 
me, that I would hesitate to take it ? Come, Ken, put 
up that note and be off to the freight van.” 

“ Yor lordship knows how to help a poor man with- 
out humbling him. Oi — ” began the fisherman, but 
the baron cut him short with : 

“ No better than you do yourself, Ken. There ! Say 
no more about it.” 

“God bless your lordship !” exclaimed the grateful 
man, as he hurried away, muttering to himself : “ And 
there’s a man wot won’t marry and send doon his 
goodness in sons and darters to bless futur generations. 


184 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE 


Wot wud Oi hev done if the Lord hedn’t put it into his 
haart to help me. Oi never asked help of any in moy 
loife, and wud hev deed sooner !” 

The immediate business upon which he had come 
now claimed his attention. He had just money enough 
in small change to pay the charge of his sad freight 
and buy a third-class ticket for himself. 

At Miston he would have to change his bank-note to 
meet other expenses. 

Meanwhile, Lord Beaudevere went to the railway 
station telegraph office and dispatched a telegram to 
Mr. Reynolds Fox, Scotland Yard, London, asking that 
experienced detective to meet him at the Yockley 
prison the next afternoon. 

Having done this, his lordship hurried to the ticket 
office and there, feeling disinclined for any company, 
engaged a compartment for himself. 

He had scarcely taken his seat before the train 
started. 

It was now quite dark, and he leaned back in his 
seat and gave himself up to thought. 

The defense of his young cousin occupied all his 
attention. He felt convinced in his own mind that 
Brandon Coyle was the murderer of Christelle Ken, 
and whether he should succeed in getting any magis- 
trate to give a warrant for the arrest of that criminal 
or not, he was determined upon one course — to employ 
the best detectives that could be procured to look up 
and follow up Mr. Brandon Coyle, and investigate his 
antecedents for the last few months. In this manner 
he hoped to collect evidence enough against him to 
compel his arrest and — to vindicate Valdimir Desparde. 

The only difficulty and danger lay in the shortness 
of the time. There were only two weeks to the com- 
ing of the Assizes ! In those two weeks all would 


A STORM OF TROUBLF. 


185 


have to be accomplished that could be done to save 
Valdimir Desparde, 

The baron resolved to begin work at once. 

As the train rushed on through the darkness he 
thought over all the evidence already in his hands 
against Brandon Coyle — his intimacy with the deceased 
girl, Christelle Ken, during her life ; his false and 
secret marriage with her ; his supposed abduction of 
her ; his attempted marriage with Lady Arielle Mont- 
joie, foiled at the last moment by a letter from the 
betrayed girl ; his burning rage against her — all these 
forming strong incentives to her murder. 

Lord Beaudevere resolved to lay these facts, if neces- 
sary, before every magistrate in the county until he 
could secure a warrant for Brandon Coyle’s apprehen- 
sion, and, in the meantime, keep his private detectives 
at work. 

It was ten o’clock when the train reached Miston. 

Lord Beaudevere got out and found his old coachman, 
with the brougham, waiting for him. 

Lord Beaudevere entered it and took his seat, and 
the coachman climbed to his box and started his horses. 

Three hours’ ride through the middle of the winter 
night brought Lord Beaudevere home to Cloudland at 
the unearthly hour of one o’clock in the morning. 

Lord Beaudevere alighted and ran up the steps of his 
house at the same moment that the tired coachman 
turned his horses’ heads towards the stables. 

“ Is Miss Desparde still up ?” inquired the baron, with- 
out reflecting how unnecessary was the question. 

'‘Yes, my lord.” replied the porter, in a low, respect- 
ful tone as he stepped to the left and threw open the 
door of the drawing-room, from which Vivienne flew to 
meet him. 

She was in full evening dress of ruby velvet, point 


186 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


lace and pearls, all of which well became the rich, dark 
brunette type of her beauty. 

She scarcely greeted Beaue, but looked eagerly to the 
right and left and behind him, as she inquired : 

“ Where is he ? Why don’t he come in ?” 

“ He will be here soon, my dear,” replied the baron, 
who had taken off his traveling cap, and was now, with 
the assistance of his valet, drawing off his heavy ulster. 

“ What has he stopped for ? Where has he gone ? To 
the stables ? And I waiting for him here ! How stupid 
of him ! Men are so provoking !” exclaimed Vivienne, 
flying to the hall door, flinging it wide open and looking 
out into the night. 

“Come, come in, my dear ; you will take cold,” said 
the baron, as he passed at once into the drawing-room. 

Vivienne closed the door and passed into the drawing- 
room, inquiring : 

“ When will you be ready for supper, Beaue ?” 

“ As soon as I have changed my dress — in twenty 
minutes,” replied the baron. 

Lord Beaudevere went up stairs. 

Lord Beaudevere was seized with a fit of moral 
cowardice, and therefore he prolonged his toilet as far 
as possible, by taking a full bath, a fresh shave, and a 
thorough “shampooing.” 

But loiter as he would, not being a lady, he could not 
drag his dressing through more than half an hour. 
Then he reluctantly went down to face Vivienne, who ^ 
was walking excitedly up and down the drawing-room. 

“ Pray, Beaue, are you going to be married by special 
license to-night, that you make such an elaborate toilet } 
You remind one of Harry Hotspur’s fop — 

‘ Fresh as a bridegroom,’ ” 
said Vivienne, sarcastically, as he came in. 


A STORM OF TROUBLE. 


187 


“My dear, I was very dusty," evasively replied the 
baron. 

“ And that boy of ours has not yet come in from the 
stables ! It is too aggravating !" exclaimed Vivienne. 

The baron made no reply. He did not know what to 
say. 

“ I wish you would send for him, Beaue ! Do you 
know that it is near two o'clock in the morning now ? 
And he will require some time to make himself pre- 
sentable — after his long journey and — the stables ! 
Send for him at once, Beaue !" 

“ My dear, he is not at the stables," said the baron. 

“ Not at the stables !" echoed Vivienne. 

“ Certainly not, my dear ! What put it in your head 
that he was there ?" 

“ You did, Beaue ! You said that he had gone around 
to the stables with the coachman and carriage to look 
at the horses ! Now, if he is not at the stables, where 
is he ?" demanded Vivienne, beginning to grow anx- 
ious. 

“ My dear, you have deceived yourself ! I certainly 
could never have told you that Valdimir had gone 
around to the stables." 

“ Where is he, then ?" almost fiercely demanded the 
girl. 

“ You see you took it for granted that he had gone 
around to the stables, and now you imagine that I told 
you so," continued the baron, trying to gain time. 

Vivienne made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming : 

“ Never mind what I imagined, or what I took for 
granted, Beaue. Tell me where my brother is, and why 
he did not come with you ? Has any accident happened 
to him ? Is he hurt .? Is he ill ? What is the matter, 
Beaue ?" she demanded, growing white. 

“ Don’t alarm yourself, my dear. Valdimir is alive 


188 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


and well, and no accident has happened to him, unless 
you would call robbery an accident,” replied the baron. 

“Robbery !” exclaimed Vivienne, in astonishment. 

“Yes, my dear, robbery! He is detained by a 
robbery — (the robbery of his good name),” mentally 
added the baron. 

“ But — I don’t understand. Who has robbed him V 
inquired the disappointed and bewildered girl. 

“ I — he — we — ” stammered the baron — “ that is, we 
think it may have been the railway guard. (Certainly 
it was the guard who accused him and took away his 
good name),” mentally added the baron in an aside. 

“ But — dear me ! — what has he lost ? Anything of so 
much importance as to detain him on his journey 
home ?” inquired Vivienne, uneasily. 

“ Yes, my dear, the most valuable piece of property 
he has in the world. A rare jewel, worth more than 
the whole of Cloudland put together,” replied the baron 
— (“ his good name,”) he added mentally. 

“But — I do not understand. Where did Valdimir 
get such a jewel 

“ It was one of his hereditary family jewels. (So it 
was — the inheritance of an untarnished name),” men- 
tally added the baron. 

“ But how careless of Valdimir to carry such a jewel 
about him I” exclaimed Vivienne. 

The baron made no reply to this. 

“ And he thinks the guard has stolen it ?” 

“ I think there is no doubt of it.” 

“What steps has my brother taken to recover his 
property ?” 

“ He has gone back to Yockley, where he first missed 
it,” replied the baron. 

“ How provoking ! And I really care a great deal 
more about the delay of my brother’s home-coming than 


A STOKM OF TROUBLE. 


189 


I do about the loss of the jewel. How long do you 
suppose this unlucky affair will detain him ?” anxiously 
inquired the girl. 

“ It is uncertain ; some days, I fear — some weeks 
possibly. He may have to go farther than Yockley in 
pursuit of his lost property — (to the other world, indeed, 
if the worst should happen),” mentally added Lord 
Beaudevere, with a fearful darkening of his own mind. 

“ It is a great disappointment, Beaue, dear ; but come 
in to supper. We have waited long enough,” said 
Vivienne. 

The baron gave her his arm and they passed into the 
dining-room and took their places at the table, where 
presently the footman in attendance served oysters on 
the half shell, then fresh venison steaks on chafing- 
dishes, and other light dainties. 

Soon after supper the guardian and ward prepared 
to retire — one very much disappointed, the other very 
anxious. 

As they were about to bid each other good-night the 
baron said : 

“ I only returned here, my love, to relieve your 
anxiety. I must go back to Yockley to-morrow morn- 
ing to help Valdimir recover his property. I shall 
probably start before you are up in the morning ; but 
you must not be uneasy, for I shall return at night.” 

“ And bring Valdimir with you 

“ Why, certainly ! Of course ! If he shall have 
recovered his property in the meantime.” 

And so they separated for the night — Vivienne very 
sleepy in spite of her disappointment, and Lord Beau- 
devere very wide awake in spite of his weariness. 

It was now three o’clock in the morning, but instead 
of going to bed the baron dispatched his valet to the 
library for writing materials, and when they were 


190 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


brought dismissed the man and sat down and wrote two 
letters, addressed to two eminent counselors at law on 
that circuit. 

When he had sealed and stamped them he put them 
carefully in the pocket of his coat to mail as he should 
pass through Miston on his way to the railway station. 

Then he lay down to take a short rest. 




CHAPTER XIX. 

THAT SECRET. 

The clouds may rest on the present, 

And sorrow on days that are gone, 

But no night is so utterly cheerless 
That we may not look for the dawn ; 

And there is no human being 
With so wholly dark a lot. 

But the heart by turning the picture. 

May find some sunny spot. 

Phebe Cary. 

Very early the next morning the baron arose, rung 
for his valet, ordered a cup of coffee and a roll to be 
brought to him in his dressing-room, and the horses to 
be put to the brougham and brought round to take him 
to the station. 

By seven o’clock he was seated in his carriage rolling 
towards Miston Station. 

By very rapid driving and fresh horses he made the 
distance in two hours and a-half, and reached the sta- 
tion at half-past nine, in time to catch the train for the 
Junction. 


THAT SECRET. 


191 


Leaving his letters with his coachman to post, and 
orders to put up for the day at the Dolphin, and meet 
him at the nine-fifty special, he jumped aboard the car 
and started on his journey. 

No sooner was the train off than a frightful anxiety 
seized him. It was lest Vivienne Desparde should see 
in the morning papers some account of the railroad 
compartment tragedy in conjunction with her brother’s 
name. He had intended to stop at the news-agent’s in 
Miston who furnished the hall with papers, and leave 
orders that they should be withheld until his return in 
the evening, when he would call for them himself ; but 
in the hurry of catching the train he had forgotten to 
do this, and now he was a prey to the most tormenting 
uneasiness. 

If Vivienne should suddenly discover the truth 
through the newspaper what might not be the conse- 
quences of its effect upon her sensitive and highly- 
strung organization ! 

Lord Beaudevere dared not answer the question to 
himself. 

He wished now that he had had the moral courage to 
break the news gently to the sister by softening all the 
circumstances as much as possible, rather than have 
exposed her to the danger of hearing a garbled and 
exaggerated account of the arrest and accusation of her 
brother through some gossiping newspaper or neighbor. 

He was horribly exercised over this danger. He 
would gladly have turned back to remedy his own for- 
getfulness about stopping the papers ; but the railway 
train held him fast and whirled him forward relent- 
lessly as destiny. 

It was half-past twelve when he reached Yockley. 

There at the station he took the same cab that he had 
engaged on the day before, and drove out to the jail. 


192 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


After the usual formula he was admitted to see his 
cousin. 

He found Valdimir in a small cell of seven feet hy 
four, with bare pine floor, bare whitewashed walls, and 
a high, grated window. There was no furniture but a 
cot-bed, and no recommendation about the spot but its 
extreme cleanliness. 

The young man was seated on the side of his cot 
engaged in reading the morning paper, for which he 
had sent out and purchased through the civility of one 
of the turnkeys. 

He looked up, immediately arose, laid aside the paper, 
greeted his kinsman, and made room for him to sit 
down on the side of the cot. 

“ Is that the morning’s Times?" mqmvedi the baron, 
as he took the indicated seat. 

“Yes; but there is nothing in it about the murder 
except a few lines in the telegraphic dispatches an- 
nouncing the fact. My name is not used,” replied the 
young man. 

“ Glad of it !” 

“ But it will all be out to-morrow.” 

Beaue looked around upon the bareness of the place 
and shuddered. 

“ Great Heaven ! my boy, cannot you have more 
comforts than these bare walls and floor ?” were the 
next words uttered by the baron, as he surveyed the 
cell. 

“ Well, yes, I suppose so, if I pay for them ; but I 
really miss nothing. I have come from a long sea 
voyage, remember, Beaue,” replied the young man, 
composedly. 

“Yes, but — I never saw such a bare place! I had 
no idea a prison cell was so destitute of all comforts !” 
ruefully exclaimed the baron. 


KEN, STEP THIS WAY, IF YOU PLEASE.” — .S'^^ Page 179 . 






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THAT SECRET. 


193 


Here Valdimir could not refrain from laughing as he 
answered : 

“ My dear Beaue, I fancy that ‘ comfort ' is about the 
last thing that would be considered in prison building 
and furnishing.” 

“ But — where do you wash your face and brush your 
hair ? I see no conveniences for anything ! Absolutely 
nothing but this cot-bed in this bare cell ! Where do 
you wash ?” 

“ There is a room at the end of this corridor used by 
all the prisoners on this floor. It is very clean. That 
is a consolation.” 

“ Humph I You don’t mean to say that you wash 
and dress in company with — ” 

“ Dear Beaue, what does that detail matter, under 
the circumstances 

“ Well, I must try to get the warden to transfer you 
to a larger cell.” 

“ 1 think they are all of one size and pattern,” 
laughed Valdimir. 

“ I don’t see how you can make so light of such a 
heavy misfortune ! And, anyway, we must get a piece 
of carpet to cover these bare boards, and a curtain to 
that window and a little stand and table put in.” 

“ Not worth while, Beaue, for the short time I shall 
stay here. The Assizes are near at hand. I shall soon 
be tried and acquitted, and then, you know, I shall 
enjoy the luxuries of carpets, curtains, tables, chairs, 
perfumes, privacy, liberty, and so on, and so on, all the 
more for having been deprived of them so long.” 

“ You feel confident of an acquittal, then, Valdimir T' 

“ Perfectly. It is only a question of a little time. 
We have only to hunt up my fellow-passengers from 
Southampton to the Grand Junction, to prove that I 
could not have been at Paddington at the time that 


194 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


mistaken guard swore that I engaged the reserved com- 
partment from him. You must set detectives at that 
work, Beaue.” 

“ I telegraphed yesterday to Fox, of Scotland^-Yard, 
to meet me here to-day. I shall put the whole care of 
hunting up the witnesses in his hands — and also that 
of tracing the murderer. I know who that caitiff is, 
my boy !” 

“ You do ?” exclaimed the young man. 

“ Certainly, most certainly, even as if I had seen the 
crime committed ! Did I not hint as much at the 
preliminary examination ?” 

“ My dear Beaue, whom do you suspect, then ?’' anx- 
iously inquired the young man. 

“ I suspect no one. I know that Brandon Coyle was 
the assassin of Christelle Ken, and so, also, does her 
unhappy father know it !" 

“ Why, then, did you not accuse him ?” 

“ I fear we have not yet grounds sufficient to convince 
a magistrate, although we have much more than enough 
to assure ourselves. Ah ! my boy, you know, and it 
has often been shown, that the strongest possible moral 
and mental conviction is not legal evidence. We must 
get more facts against Mr. Brandon Coyle, and in order 
to do so we must put the case in the skillful hands of 
Fox and his associates.” 

“And have you thought of what counsel we shall 
employ ?” inquired Desparde. 

“ Certainly ; I have written to Stair and Turner, two 
of the most eminent lawyers in the kingdom, and both 
on this circuit. They will meet me here to-day. And 
now, my dear Valdimir, that we are alone, perhaps you 
will give me the long promised explanation of your 
sudden flight from England,” rather abruptly proposed 
Lord Beaudevere. 


THAT SECRET 


195 


“ I have no objection, if we have time. And after- 
wards, Beaue, will yon tell me the secret of my own and 
my sister’s early life ?” demanded the young man. 

“ There was no secret, Valdimir, as I have often 
assured you !*’ exclaimed the baron, not, however, with- 
out the strong agitation that he always betrayed when- 
ever this subject was introduced. 

Young Desparde looked at his relative keenly for a 
moment, and then changed his phraseology without 
abandoning his point, by saying : 

“ Then, if not the secret^ will you tell me the story of 
our early life ? — for every life has a story, and therefore 
ours must have one ; and, Beaue, it was my total ignor- 
ance of the story of my early life that left me a prey to 
a most designing villain, for he foisted upon me his own 
disgraceful history as mine. There were external cir- 
cumstances to support the terrible falsehood and compel 
me to receive it as the truth. I did so, and iled the 
country to hide my dishonored head in the wilds of 
America. I fled without assigning any cause for my 
flight lest the disclosure of my shameful secret should 
blast the peace and ruin the prospects of my innocent 
sister.” 

While the young man spoke the strongest emotion 
shook his frame, but that seemed as nothing to the 
storm that whirled through the soul of Baron Beaude- 
vere. 

Thrice he attempted to speak before he could utter 
the words : 

“ Brandon Coyle — the mulatto ! The son of a felon ! 
He did this ?” 

Valdimir Desparde bowed his head in silence. 

I see it all ! I see it all ! This accursed villain ! 
He made the stolen alias of his felon father the means 
of misleading you ! Why ? Oh, why did you not come 


196 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


to me immediately — to to contradict that infamous 

slander before taking your desperate flight ?” demanded 
the baron, with a frenzied gesture. 

“ Beaue, it was because you never would tell me the 
secret — that is, the story of our early life. Only that 
morning, Beaue, I had besought you to do so, and you 
had refused — refused in such a manner as to silence 
my questions completely. Then came Co3de’s revela- 
tion to me, .supported by the strongest as well as the 
most fallacious circumstantial evidence. I thought 
that story was the truth, and that it explained the reason 
of your persistent silence. Beaue, if I had known the 
true story of our own early life — my sister’s and mine 
— I could not have been deceived by a false one !” said 
Valdimir. 

“ Scoundrel ! Idiot !” exclaimed the baron, bringing 
down his fist emphatically upon the cot. 

But who was the scoundrel and who the idiot was 
not made quite clear by his words. 

“ At some more fitting time, Beaue, I will tell you 
the whole tale of this deception that drove me nearly 
mad and sent me an exile from my native land and 
from all that man holds dear in life ; and also I will tell 
you the providential means through which I discovered 
the truth. It was a very singular chain of circum- 
stances. But I presume, by what you have let fall, 
Beaue, that you at least knew this disgraceful stor}^ of 
Brandon Coyle always ?” 

“Yes,” slowly replied the baron. “I knew it from 
the circumstance of the felon having stolen your father’s 
money, jewels, letters of credit and name, and the com- 
plications that followed therefrom ; but I do not believe 
that there was another man in the world, outside of the 
Coyle family, that did know it — that did know, I mean, 
anything whatever of that mulatto felon who was 


THAT SECRET. 


197 


hanged in New Orleans, or of Mr. Brandon Coyle’s 
close connection with him.” 

“ But if this brother and sister are the children of 
that criminal, then their name must be Sims, not 
Coyle,” said Valdimir. 

“ It is Sims ! But old Christopher Coyle, when he 
adopted these children of his unhappy niece, the widow 
of Sims, gave them his name. And I suppose that in 
his will he has taken care to make Brandon’s inherit- 
ance of Caveland conditional upon his legal assumption 
of the name of Coyle.” 

“ I suppose so ; but now, Beaue, is there really any 
serious objection to your telling me the secret — I mean 
the story of our early years ?” inquired Valdimir. 

Again the face of the baron changed, and his voice 
faltered as he answered : 

“ I will tell you, but you — when you have heard all — 
you must not dare to blame — ” 

“ For Heaven sake !” interrupted the young man, in 
alarm at the word “ blame,” “ tell me this at the out- 
set — I have suffered so much that I cannot bear sus- 
pense upon this subject — was there, then, any reproach, 
merited or unmevitedy attached to the name and 
memory of my father or my mother ?” 

What in the deuce do you mean by such a question .?” 
indignantly demanded the baron. “ ‘ Reproach ’ attached 
to your father or your mother ? Of course not ! not 
the shadow of the shade of reproach !” 

“ Thank heaven ! And since there is no reproach I 
cannot understand the reason of your great reluctance 
to speak of them,” said Valdimir. 

“ That reluctance can be explained in three words.” 

’Before Lord Beaudevere could utter another syllable 
the cell door was opened by the turnkey, who ushered 
in Mr. Reynolds Fox, the detective from Scotland Yard. 


198 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


Lord Beaudevere had known and employed this 
officer before, and now he introduced him to Mr. Des- 
parde. 

No time was lost. The case was immediately set be- 
fore him. He took it all down in short-hand cipher. 

Then a consultation upon it ensued, and he took down 
notes, and suggestions, also in short-hand cipher. 

Just as he had concluded this preparatory work, and 
was about to take his leave, the cell door was again 
opened and the turnkey ushered in Mr. Stair. 

The eminent lawyer entered, bowed and shook hands 
with the baron, and was by the latter introduced to the 
prisoner. 

The lawyer also had his note-book, but it was in the 
hands of his clerk who waited in the corridor. The lit- 
tle cell was too limited in space to admit the presence 
of five men at the same time. 

As soon, therefore, as Fox had bowed himself out of 
the cell, Mr. Stair called his clerk in. 

And then the consultation began. 

The clerk took down such notes as his chief sug- 
gested. 

The conference lasted a long time. 

The three gentlemen sat upon the side of the cot. 
The clerk stood before them, leaning his back against 
the wall and taking down the brief in short-hand on his 
tablets. 

There was one circumstance that brought the great- 
est strength and comfort to the baron and his cousin — 
they saw that the counsel was perfectly convinced of 
Valdimir Desparde’s innocence. 

While they were still engaged there was a third 
arrival — Mr. Turner, who was duly admitted to the cell. 

The last-named gentleman bowed to the party within, 
and then shook hands with his brother lawyer and with 


THAT SECRET. 


199 


Lord Beaudevere, whom he had long known and by 
whom he was introduced to Mr, Desparde. 

Room could scarcely be found for the new-comer. 

The clerk was permitted to withdraw for a few min- 
utes. 

The baron now foresaw a recommencement of the 
whole case for the information of Mr. Turner and he knew 
that Mr. Stair and Valdimir Desparde were quite compe- 
tent to the task. He was, besides, very anxious to get home 
earlier than he had first planned to do. He was troub- 
led on account of Vivienne, lest she should have seen 
the account of Valdimir Desparde’s arrest in the paper. 

He therefore arose, and telling his cousin that he 
felt he was leaving him in good hands, he took his 
leave promising to return the next day. 

He reached home about half-past ten. 

But he found no brilliantly-lighted drawing-room or 
dining-room — no sumptuously-spread supper table. 

The porter met him in the hall. 

“ Is — where is Miss Desparde ?” he inquired, as his 
heart sank with the heavy thought that she had learned 
the great misfortune that had befallen the family, and 
had been prostrated by it. 

“ Miss Desparde, my lord, is ill in bed, I am grieved 
to say, your lordship,” solemnly replied the porter. 

It was true, then ! Vivienne had learned the news, 
and it had crushed her — killed her, perhaps. 

Beaue shelled himself out of his ulster as swiftly as 
he could have turned a bean out of a pod, sprang up 
stairs three steps at a bound, and paused before Miss 
Desparde’s door. 

There he stopped, panted, and finally rapped softly. 

The lady’s-maid opened the door. 

How is sheV' breathed Beaue, in eager tones. 

Before the girl could answer a word, a weak, hoarse. 


200 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


nasal voice, half stifled by catarrh, but by no means 
laden with grief, inquired : 

“ Id thad hid lordshid ! Led him come bin.” 

In rushed Beaue and up to the closely curtained bed, 
around which hung the mingled aromas of squills, 
paregoric, honey, borax, and what not ! 

“ Did Valdimir come bid you ?” inquired the invalid 
from her muffling flannels. 

“No, my love, he has not recovered his property 
yet,” answered the much-relieved baron, who knew by 
her question that she had not yet learned the terrible 
truth. 

“ Whad a nuidance !” she said. 

“ I am sorry to see you so much indisposed, my 
dear,” said he. 

“ Oh, Beaue, I hab god the worst gold in my head I 
ebber had in my lipe !” 

“Yes, my dear, you must have taken it while stand- 
ing out of the door last night with nothing around your 
head and shoulders,” said the baron. 

“ Well, den, why don’t you day ‘ I dold you do ?” ’ 
saucily inquired the invalid. 

“ Because that would be unkind, my dear, though I 
did tell you you would take cold.” 

“ But I dibn’t dakegolddanding oud od doors, Beaue ! 
I dook gold dedding in the drawing-droom over the 
fire,” retorted Vivienne, defiantly. 

“ There, my dear, don’t try to talk longer ! It must 
hurt you to do so — at least it is— excruciating to hear 
you !” said the baron. 

Then turning to the maid he asked : 

“ Has she had advice ?” 

“Yes, sir, I sent for doctor Bennet early this morn- 
ing.” 

“ Quite right. Where are the day’s papers ?” 


THAT SECRET. 


201 


“ In the library, sir. No one has touched them.” 

Very much relieved in mind, Lord Beaudevere bade 
his young cousin good-night, wished her sound sleep 
and sweet dreams and went down stairs to his library. 

There he found the newspapers, still unfolded. 

He looked through them all carefully ; but only in 
the telegraphic columns of the London papers did he 
see any notice of the yesterday’s murder in the railway 
carriage, and that was without any allusion to his 
cousin, Valdimir Desparde. 

The country papers were all weeklies, and would not 
be out until Saturday. 

” There will be a full account of this tragedy in the 
papers to-morrow,” he said to himself, “ and I must 
take care that Vivienne does not see them. I am 
rather glad than otherwise that she ts laid up with a 
cold, since it is not a dangerous one. The circumstance 
will enable me to keep this dreadful affair from her for 
some time yet. I must, however, call at Bennet’s office 
to-morrow and warn him not to speak of it to her,” con- 
cluded the baron, as he rang the bell for the footmen to 
come and shut up the house, and then took his bed- 
room candle and went up to his chamber. 



CHAPTER XX. 

AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 

The world has lost its bright illusions. One by one 
The masks have gone ; the lights burnt out ; 

The music dropped into silence, and she stands alone 
In the dark halls, and hears no sound of life 
Save the monotonous beating of her heart. 

Longfellow. 

Now she will sit all day, and now she ’s fain 
To rise and walk, then sigh and sit again; 

Then try some work, forget it and think on, 

Wishing, with perfect love, that time were gone. 

Leigh Hunt. 

Perfect peace fell on Montjoie Castle after the exodus 
of the Coyles. 

The good old earl was gone indeed, but his grand- 
daughter was comforted for his departure by the thought 
that he had gone to join the beloved wife with whom he 
had lived in harmony and happiness for more than sixty 
years on earth. 

In her tender memory of them there was no bitterness 
of sorrow. 

Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne Desparde had re- 
[202J 


AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 


S03 


maiiied with her at Castle Montjoie until the arrival of 
Net Fleming. 

Net came on the Saturday afternoon and brought the 
children, according to her promise. 

These little ones were wild with delight, in anticipa- 
tion of the long carriage ride and the long visit at the 
end of it. 

From the moment in which Net announced these pros- 
pective pleasures to them, which she did on the after- 
noon of her return from the old earl’s funeral, the chil- 
dren had made Little. Mammam’s life a burden to her 
with questions as to — 

“ When are we going ?" 

^‘How many days before Saturday comes ?” 

“ How man}’’ nights ?” 

“ How many hours ?” 

And when Saturday did come, with a drizzling rain, 
the children arose in despair, until Net assured them 
that if the carriage should come they should go, whether 
it rained or cleared. 

And then they begged to be dressed for the journey 
immediately after dinner, and when their request was 
complied with they stood at the windows and flattened 
their noses against the panes, watching for the approach 
of the carriage. 

About two o’clock in the afternoon their vigilance 
was rewarded. The rain ceased, the sun shone out, the 
clouds dispersed, and — a light, covered cart drove up to 
the cottage gate. 

The children thought that^2iS the carriage which had 
come for them, and they raised a shout of joy as they 
rushed out of the parlor and tore open the front door. 

But only a groom from Castle Montjoie dismounted 
from the seat and came through the gate and up the 
little walk and put a note into the hand of Mrs. Fleming. 


204 


BRANDON COYLE 8 WIFE. 


It was from the young countess and contained but a 
few words — saying : 

“ Dearest Net. — I send the light cart for yours and 
the children’s luggage, that you may not be encum- 
bered with it in the carriage, which will follow in a few 
minutes. 

“ It will be the close brougham, in which you may 
venture to come without fear of taking cold, even 
though it should continue to rain. Lord Beaudevere 
and Vivienne are only waiting. for your arrival to take 
leave of me and return to Cloudland. 

“ It is good of my guardian to give me my own will 
in regard to my remaining at the castle ; but he says 
he means to use his power only to guard, not to con- 
trol. 

“ Come along, Net ! I am anxiously awaiting you, 

“ Arielle.” 

“ Can I help to take the luggage out, ma’am ?” in- 
quired the groom, touching his hat. 

“ I thank you, yes ; I will call some one to show you 
where it is,” answered the little lady, who then sum- 
moned Peter Ken from the kitchen and told him to 
assist the groom in removing the two trunks that were 
already packed and waiting in the bedroom. 

By the time the luggage had been placed upon the 
cart, and the cart had been driven away, the brougham 
drew up at the gate. 

Net had locked up all the inside of the, house, and 
had sent her maid-of-all-work home. Now, therefore, 
she left her faithful Peter Ken to put out the last fires, 
lock up the house, and take the key home with him- 
self. 

As Net left the house-door and overtook the two 


AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 


205 


children at the gate, she saw, to her slight dismay, that 
Luke had the cat hugged up in his arms to be the com- 
panion of his visit, and Ella had the two little straw 
hearth brooms to take with her. 

It cost Little Mammam some trouble to convince the 
children as to the propriety of leaving puss and the 
besoms at home. 

They yielded at length only on condition that Peter 
Ken should promise to feed the cat every day, and take 
care of the brooms until their return home. 

Then at length they gladly submitted to be lifted 
into the brougham, whither Net immediately followed 
them. 

In a few more minutes, to their great delight, they 
were bowling rapidly down the lane towards the turn- 
pike road. 

In was a happy journey to the children, who keenly 
enjoyed every mile of the ride, and Net sympatheti- 
cally entered into their enjoyment. 

Three hours of this, to them, delightful drive, brought 
them to Castle Montjoie. 

The little ones had never in their lives seen anything 
like so lofty and imposing a structure as Castle Mont- 
joie. 

On their near approach they grew full of wonder, and 
plied Little Mammam with a multitude of questions. 

“ Was it not biggerer than the Ogre’s castle in Puss- 
in-Boots ?” 

“Wasn’t it a great deal biggerer than the giant’s 
castle in Jack and the Beanstalk ?” 

“ Anyway, it was ten times biggerer than their 
church, which was the biggerest house they had ever 
seen,” etc., etc., etc. 

When they passed up the winding road cut in the 
solid rock and leading up to the castle gates, the children 


206 


brandoN Coyle s wife. 


stopped talking and held their tongues, and almost 
their very breath in fear. 

But when they reached the summit of the rock, and 
passed over the draw-bridge across the old moat, and 
through the archway in the wall, over which hung the 
long disused portcullis, their eyes and mouths were 
bothppened with wonder and curiosity. 

The carriage crossed the court-yard to the modern- 
ized buildings on the opposite side, at the central hall 
door of which it drew up. 

A groom came to the horses’ heads. 

A footman opened the door and lifted out little Ella, 
who, taking the liveried servant for a gentleman, said, 
very humbly and politely : 

“ Thank you, sir,” as soon as he had set her down. 

Luke followed. 

Net alighted last of all, and taking the hands of the 
two children led them up the stone steps to the great 
oaken doors that were opened for their admission. 

Arielle received them in the hall, embraced Net in 
silent welcome, and then exclaimed : 

” I was so much afraid the rain would prevent you 
from coming !” 

“ Oh, but wese was coming if it poured and poured, 
wese was,” cried Luke. 

“ If it poured and poured"' added Ella. 

“Were you ? You-dear children ! That was right !” 
exclaimed Arielle, giving each one a hand, and then 
adding : “ I hope you are going to be very happy here.” 

“But Mam mam wuzzent let us bring Pudence wiz 
us,” complained Luke. 

“ No, wuzzent let us bring Pudence nor ze b’ooms, 
neezer,” added Ella. 

“ What do they mean ?” inquired their puzzled young 
hostess, appealing to their mammam. 


AT OASTLE MONTJOIE. 


207 


“ Oh, they wanted to bring the cat and their brooms,” 
laughed Net. 

” Well, why didn’t you let them ? Do you want your 
cat ?” sympathetically inquired the young lady, as she 
led them up stairs, followed by Net. 

“ Es ; tauze poor Piidence will be lonesome zere by 
herse’f,” said Luke. 

“ Zere by herse’f,” echoed Ella. 

“ It was tuel to leaze Pudence all alone,” added Luke. 

“All alone,” echoed Ella. 

“ Your little mammam wouldn’t do anything cruel. 
She thought I wouldn’t like to have ^Pudence,* and so 
she didn’t bring her. But 1 will send a groom on horse- 
back to bring her this very afternoon, so you can have 
her, maybe, before you go to bed, or at any rate the 
first minute you are awake to-morrow morning.” 

“ Oh, that will be joyful !” exclaimed Luke. 

“Joyful !” echoed Ella. 

“ Would you take so much unnecessary trouble 
inquired Net. 

“ Now, my dear, lov you to ask such a question ! It is 
not unnecessary. How much the missing of one little 
inexpensiv^e trifle spoils all the enjoyment that wealth 
and skill can supply ! ‘ Pudence,’ you perceive, is nec- 

essary to the perfection of these children’s enjoyment. 
And then again, you see, my men-servants have next to 
nothing to do. Let one of them go to Miston and bring 
‘ Pudence.’ And how about the brooms, my darlings V* 
she inquired, turning again to the children. 

“ Oh, we don’t tare so much about zem. B’ooms 
won’t be lonesome,” said Luke. 

“ No, ‘ b’ooms won't be lonesome,’ ” echoed Ella. 

They had now reached a landing on an extensive 
upper hall, from which doors opened into bed-chambers 
and dressing-rooms on every hand. 


208 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


Arielle, preceding her guest, led the children into a 
lofty and spacious sitting-room, the first of a handsome 
and extensive suit that she had appropriated to the use 
of Net and the twins. 

A neat and trim little countr)’’ girl belonging to the 
estate was in attendance. 

She was in mourning for her late master, and wore a 
black bombazine dress, white lawn bib apron, collar and 
cuffs, and a white net cap trimmed with black ribbon. 

“ This is your maid, my dear. Her name is Nelly 
Lacy, and she is a younger sister of my attendant, 
Lacy,” said Lady Arielle. 

The rosy-cheeked girl blushed and courtesied, and 
courtesied and blushed, until Net said : 

“ I am sure I shall like you, Nelly. You look very 
much like your sister. Will you take off the children’s 
wraps ?” 

Nelly courtesied again and drew off little Luke’s 
overcoat and gum shoes, for which service the little fel- 
low, mistaking the smart waiting-maid in a bombazine 
dress and a mob cap for a young widow, as he had mis- 
taken the smart footman for a young officer, bowed and 
said : 

“ I sanks you vezy much, ma’am.” 

And little Ella, when the same service was performed 
for her, made her acknowledgments in the same lan- 
guage. 

“ You see, my rustic children are not accustomed to 
such grandeur,” whispered Net, with a smile. “ All 
their notions of female domestics are drawn from 
women with coarse gowns tucked up to their waists and 
sleeves rolled up above their elbows, bare-headed, bare- 
armed, and often, by preference, bare-footed, too ! 

like poor Kit Ken ! Ah, poor Kit ! Where is she 
now ?” And Net’s laughing whisper ended in a sigh. 


AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 


209 


“ If we ever get trace of her we will take care of her, 
Net,” said Lady Arielle. 

Yes, if we ever get trace of her. And I think we 
shall, sooner or later. As far as I have observed 
among our unfortunate village girls, their career is 
soon run, and they always creep home, like wounded 
animals, to die ! Kit is the third girl who has disap- 
peared from Miston during my recollection. The first 
one returned to die in the alms-house. The second 
was found dead on her father’s doorstep one bitter 
winter night,” sighed Net. 

** But we must try to prevent that in Kit’s case. We 
must try to find her in time ! She has been a victim, 
not a sinner, poor soul — ’ 

“Unless overweening pride and vanity be sins, 
which we are taught to believe that they are ! Poor Kit 
fell, not through love, but through her passionate 
desire to become a ‘ leddy.’ ” 

The little maid had, meantime, taken the children 
into the adjoining nursery to brush their hair, so that 
this short colloquy was carried on quietly between the 
two friends. 

“ You must let the little ones come down to dessert 
after dinner,” said Lady Arielle, as she stood by Net, 
who was taking off her bonnet and gloves before the 
glass. 

“ They will be delighted,” replied Little Mammam. 

“ And now— oh ! I had nearly forgotten through our 
talk about poor Kit — I must see about sending for the 
children’s cat,” said Lady Arielle, stepping to the bell 
and ringing it vigorousl3L 

Adams, the lady’s footman, answered the summons. 

Lady Arielle’s instructions were concise. 

“ Go down to the stables and tell one of the young 
grooms" to mount a fresh horse and ride to Miston to 


210 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


the house of James Ken, the fisherman, and ask — ” 
Here Lady Arielle hesitated and looked at Net. 

“ Peter,” said the latter. 

“ Ask Peter Ken to go with him to Bird’s Nest Cot. 
tage, in Church Lane, and catch the children’s cat, and 
put it in a bag and give it to him. And then he must 
bring it on here safely. Do you understand now ?” 

“ Yes, my lady, perfectly.” 

“ Tell the groom to get back as soon as possible.” 

“ Yes, my lady.” 

And not to come without the cat.” 

” No, my lady.” 

“ Now hurry away.” 

Yes, my lady.” 

And the man bowed and was gone. 

“ Mammam ! Mammam ! Mammam !” called the 
children from the adjoining nursery. 

Net, with her black hair in one hand and her brush 
in the other, went to the nursery door, where a pretty 
picture greeted her sight : 

The children at their tea ! 

It was alow table, covered with a white cloth, and 
decorated with a Liliputian service of rosebud china, 
and laden with a dainty repast of light cakes and bis- 
cuits, fruit and milk. 

The two little ones were seated opposite each other 
on little low chairs, and Nelly Lacy was waiting on 
them. 

“Oh, that is very pretty !” exclaimed Net. 

“ It is luzly,” said Luke. 

“ Luzly,” echoed Ella. 

Net expressed her warm approval, and then went 
back to her bedroom to do up her hair. 

When her toilet was completed the two young ladies 
left the children in the care of Nelly Lacy, with orders 


AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 


211 


that they should be brought down to dessert when the 
time should come, and then descended to the drawing- 
room, where they found Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne 
waiting for them. 

The baron advanced and received Net with his usual 
courtly grace, and Vivienne kissed her with much af- 
fection. 

Dinner was soon afterwards announced, and the baron 
gave his arm to Net to take her in. 

“There is a famine of gentlemen in this house just at 
present, Vivienne. Will you take my arm in lack of a 
better ?” said the young countess, as she drew her 
friend’s hand under her elbow. 

The four sat down to an exquisite dinner, which the 
baron, being an epicure, appreciated and enjoyed. 

“ You will do well to retain the services of your pres- 
ent chef^ my dear,” he said, as he tested the merits of a 
new soup. 

“ I shall retain every one of my dear grandfather’s old 
servants,” replied the little countess. 

“ Oh ! I do not recommend that! What, for instance, 
could you do with his lordship’s valet ?” inquired the 
baron. 

“ Make him groom of the chambers— an office which 
bur family have not hitherto established in our homes, 
but which I will set up for his benefit,” smiled Arielle. 

“ Oh !” said the baron ; and he swallowed the rest of 
his soup in silence. 

The remaining courses were also highly approved of 
by the baron, who, in pushing his last plate away, gave 
expression to the following opinion : 

“ I think that the great longevity of the late earl and 
countess was, under Divine Providence, due to their 
own practical wisdom in employing the highest culinary 
talent without regard to cost to prepare their food. It 


212 


BRANDON OOYLE’s WIFE. 


is what a human being eats and drinks that largely 
goes to save or to destroy his or her life.'' 

“ I will keep Monsieur Delatour, my lord, unless you 
would like to take him off my hands,” replied Arielle. 

Humph ! It is a temptation, but 1 won’t deprive 
you of him, Countess.” 

The cloth was now withdrawn and the fruit, cake, 
wine and nuts were placed upon the table. 

With these appeared Net’s two children in the charge 
of Nelly Lacy, followed by two high chairs brought by 
a footman from the lumber-room in one of the towers, 
by the direction of Lady Arielle. 

The high chairs were put up on each side of the 
hostess and the children set in them. 

At first they were very shy, but as there were but 
three ladies and one gentleman at the table, and these 
were very kind to them, they soon recovered their 
spirits. 

Beane peeled oranges and picked out the kernels of 
walnuts for them, and the footman in waiting brought 
cake. 

And to the peer of the realm and to the serving-man 
equally the children responded for every attention ; 

“ Sanky, sir ! Sanky, sir !” 

They knew no better. Net was wondering if it were 
worth while to teach them any better. 

After dinner the party adjourned to the drawing- 
room and the children were taken upstairs by Nelly 
Lacy, followed by Net, who excused herself to her 
friends by saying that it had always been her habit to 
see the little ones to bed. 

Indeed, of course, it was always Net who heard the 
children say their prayers at* night. 

Luke and Ella were very tired, however, on this 
occasion, and did not as usual detain their Little Mam- 


AT CASTLE MONTJOIE. 


213 


■mam to sing hymns or tell Bible stories long after they 
had laid their little heads upon their pillows. 

In fact, they were both asleep before they were well 
laid down, and Net was at liberty to return to her 
friends in the parlor, where she found Lady Arielle 
seated at the piano and Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne 
standing behind her. 

They were singing to her accompaniment an evening 
hymn, with the music from Haydn. 

Net glided up to the group and added her fine soprano 
voice to them, completing the quartet. 

They spent a long evening with sacred music, and 
then separated and retired. 

The first creatures awake in that castle the next 
morning were Net’s babies. And their first waking 
thought after they had recovered from their astonish- 
ment at finding themselves in a strange bed, and had 
recollected how they came there, was — the cat. 

She was coiled up comfortably asleep on the foot of 
their bed, where she had been placed by the faithful 
Nelly, who had received her late at night from the 
hands of Moses, the groom, who had brought her from 
the Birds’-Nest Cottage. 

The children now wanted nothing to complete their 
happiness. They had the freedom of the castle and the 
court-yard, and in the care of Nelly Lacy they wandered 
about at will, all over the place, surprised and delighted 
anew at every novelty, and pleased with their pretty 
young nursemaid, whose position as a servant they 
began to understand, and whom they warned that they 
hoped she would not “ wun away as poor Tit did.” 

After luncheon that day Lord Beaudevere and Miss 
Desparde took leave of their friends and went home to 
Cloudland. 



CHAPTER XXI. 

DREAM OR VISION? 

Oh, Spirit land ! thou land of dreams ! 

A world thou art of mysterious gleams, 

Of startling voices and sounds of strife — 

A world of the lost who have entered life ! 

Felicia Hemans. 

She warned in dreams, her murder she did tell 
From point to point, as really it befell. Dryden. 

The vision fled and vanished from her sight ; 

The dreamer wakened in a mortal fright. Ibid. 

Net and Arielle were left with only each other and 
the two children for company ; and if they could not be 
called absolutely happy they were at least very peace- 
ful and contented. 

On the third day of her sojourn at the castle Net 
received a short note from Antoinette Deloraine, saying 
that she was no longer able to ride or walk out, and 
scarcely able to sit at her writing table long enough to 
write that note, and imploring Net to come to her, even 
if she had to bring the children with her. 

If Net then could have divided herself between 
Arielle and Antoinette, she would have done so. 

[214] 


DREAM OR VISION. 


215 


She could not bear to refuse Antoinette, and she could 
not bear to leave Arielle at this juncture. , 

She wrote a most affectionate note to her cousin, tell- 
ing her of the state of affairs at Castle Montjoie, and 
promising her that she would set out for Deloraine Park 
immediately after Christmas. 

In fact, Net was secretly looking forward to the 
return of Valdimir Desparde, and his full reconciliation 
with Lady Arielle. 

Such a happy consummation for the young lovers 
would set her so much at ease on her young friend’s 
account that she would feel quite free to leave her. 

Once she tried to sound Arielle upon the subject. 

“ We have not heard anything from Cloudland since 
Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne left us. But I suppose 
we shall hear from them as soon as Mr. Desparde 
arrives,” she said. 

“ I do not know why they should announce his 
arrival to us,” replied Lady Arielle, coldly, though with 
a slight tremor in her voice. 

“ Because he is coming to vindicate himself, my 
dear,” replied Net, gently — “ and, indeed, he needs to 
vindicate himself to you more than any one else alive.” 

“ I do not wish to hear his vindication. We already 
know what it will amount to. He fell into low com- 
pany ; he was entrapped into marrying a low girl ; his 
wife and child have perished by yellow fever in New 
Orleans ; he devoted himself to the care of the sufferers 
until the reign, of the plague was over ; and now he 
comes back a free man to vindicate his character. 
What sort of a vindication is this ! I want none of it !” 

“ Oh, my dear Arielle ! remember how he loved you, 
notwithstanding all, and try to forgive him,” pleaded 
Net. 

“ I do forgive him ! I must forgive him, or never 


216 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


expect to be forgiven myself ! But I cannot — cannot 
receive him on the old conditions again ! I could pass 
over almost any other fault in a man but this one that 
he has committed ! He allowed himself to be drawn 
away from me by another woman ! I cannot condone 
that offense — no I cannot ! I cannot ! It has opened a 
great gulf between our souls, wider than that which 
separated Dives from Lazarus !” said Arielle, passion- 
ately, while her delicate frame shook under the storm 
of emotion aroused by the theme. 

“ I do believe that you could more easily forgive 
your lover for murdering another man than for loving 
another woman !” exclaimed Net. 

“ I — do — believe — I — could,” answered Arielle. 

“ Perhaps he never did either love or marry another 
woman. We have not his word for it that he did. We 
have only the detective’s report ; and they fall upon 
false clews with masterly ingenuity. Mr. Desparde 
says nothing but this — that he is coming home to vindi- 
cate himself from all reproach. We should at least 
give him the opportunity, and not prejudge him,” per- 
sisted Net. 

“ Say no more ! I cannot bear the subject, Net ; but 
tell me, dear girl, do you often hear from Mr. Flem- 
ing ?” inquired Lady Arielle, not maliciously at all — 
because she had not the slightest suspicion that Adrian 
Fleming had deserted his wife — but only to change the 
subject. 

Net flushed to her temples, and answered evasively : 

“ Not for a month. When I heard last, he was in 
America, and was about to start for the wilds of the 
West to hunt the buffalo.” 

Net did not add, that even for this information she 
was indebted to the “ Personal ” column of a Devonshire 
paper that had accidentally fallen into her hands. 


DREAM OR VISION. 


217 


How Net loathed the part she had to play to shield 
her recreant husband from reproach ! Had it been 
only herself who was to suffer, she would have told the 
whole story of her hapless marriage, rather than have 
appeared in false colors and lived a lie ! 

Arielle perceived that this subject pained her friend 
as much as the other one had pained herself, and she 
therefore refrained from pursuing it ; thinking, per- 
haps, that Net felt the continued absence of her hus- 
band as a humiliating neglect of herself, and thinking 
no worse than that. 

“ Well, never mind ! Let us leave off talking of the 
men ! The theme is a most unprofitable one ! Let us 
talk of women ! What is the matter with Antoinette 
Deloraine ?” she inquired, with much interest. 

“ A hereditary delicacy of constitution that shortened 
the lives of her foremothers for many generations past. 
Each one has died younger than the mother who bore 
her, and poor Antoinette, who thinks that she is dying, is 
several years younger than her own mother was when 
she passed away. I am very sorry for Antoinette. 
Her position is truly pitiable, her fate almost tragical. 
Think of it ! Not yet nineteen years old — youthful, 
beautiful, wealthy, accomplished, and ambitious. So 
ambitious ! She declared she would not marry any one 
under the rank of a duke, you know. And now to be 
dying, alone in that remote country house, with no one 
near her but nurses and servants ! It is too sorrowful. 
I must go to her immediately after Christmas,” said 
Net. 

Lady Arielle would have expostulated, but she felt 
that, however unwilling she might feel to part with Net, 
she could not conscientiously object to have her go to 
her dying cousin. 

“ Why — in case of Antoinette Deloraine’s dying 


218 


BRANDON COYLE ’S WIFE. 


unmarried— are the heiress of Deloraine Park, are 
you not ?" suddenly inquired Lady Arielle, as if the 
thought had just occurred to her. 

“ Yes, but don’t let us discuss that, please ; the 
thought is really and truly too distressing to me,” 
sighed Net, turning away her head. 

“ Too distressing to you, is it, my unselfish darling, to 
remember that you are the heiress of Deloraine Park ? 
It will not be too distressing to Sir Adrian and Lady 
Fleming, take my word for it ! But there, I will say no 
more about it. I suppose you must go to Antoinette 
after Christmas.” 

“Or earlier, if she should get worse. I wrote and 
told her that.” 

A few days after this conversation Arielle received a 
note from her guardian, telling her that the Colorado 
steamship, from New York to Southampton, had arrived, 
bringing Mr. Valdimir Desparde, who had that morn- 
ing telegraphed to his uncle to send a dog-cart to meet 
him at the Miston Station at seven o’clock the next 
morning. The note ended in these words : 

“ But I shall not send anybody, my dear. I shall go 
myself to meet my boy. And if he can vindicate him- 
self to my satisfaction, as I hope and believe that he 
can, I will bring him to your feet without delay. If he 
cannot — and it may be possible that he cannot — I will 
not permit him to approach you.” 

Arielle read this note to Net, and then asked her : 

“ What do you think of it ?” 

“ I think, as the baron does, that Mr. Desparde will 
be able to vindicate himself fully. And in that case 
he will soon be at your feet, dearest,” confidently 
replied Net. 


DREAM OR VISION. 


219 


Arielle’s delicate face flushed to the edges of her 
hair. 

“ I hope they will make no mistake about what I 
shall consider a full vindication. If he had deserted 
me for another woman no excuse that he could make 
would vindicate him in my eyes. I could never, never 
condone that offense. I might forgive it — nay, I must 
forgive it — but I can never, never condone it !’* she 
exclaimed. 

“ Hush, my darling. Do not excite yourself prem- 
aturely. I do not believe one word about that other 
woman. But, thank Heaven, your suspense, this try- 
ing suspense, will soon be over !” 

“ Yes. Valdimir starts from Southampton this morn- 
fng, and by traveling day and night will reach Miston 
Station to-morrow at seven in the morning. The baron 
will meet him there, hear his explanation as they drive 
home to Cloudland, and if that explanation shall satisfy 
him, he will bring the wanderer here in the afternoon. 
To-morrow afternoon ! Oh, how near ! Ah ! I hope^ I 
pray that there has been no other woman in the case ! 
But, ah ! what is the use of such a hope or prayer in 
regard to a past event, which is fixed past hoping for 
or praying for !” 

All the rest of that day Net noticed that Lady Arielle 
was very restless and could settle herself to no occupa- 
tion. 

At night, on leaving her friend to retire, she said : 

“ I am going to bed. Net, because I do not know 
what else to do, as it is bed-time, but I know I shall not 
sleep. Oh, Net ! is it not humiliating to feel this 
interest in a man who offered me the greatest affront 
a woman could possibly receive^” exclaimed Lady 
Arielle, in a flame of self-scorn. 

“ Or who seemed to have offered you this affront. 


220 


BRANDON COYLE’S WIFE. 


Appearances are deceitful. You must wait for his 
explanation,” replied Net. 

“ I shall lie awake and think of him — think of him on 
the railway train speeding northward through the 
darkness of the night. He will be traveling all night ; 
he will be at Miston at seven o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing ; he will be at Cloudland at half-past nine, and — if 
all should be right in his explanation to Lord Beau- 
devere — they will be here by twelve ! Oh, Net, what a 
thought ! What is the hour now, dear Net ? I never 
carry a watch ; look at yours.” 

“ It wants about two minutes of ten,” answered her 
friend, after consulting the little time-piece that hung 
at her girdle. 

“ Fourteen hours yet to wait ! Oh ! if I could only 
sleep seven of them away ! I might bear the rest ! 
Ah ! it is degrading to care so much about this man ! 
But it is only in the hope that the report of the detec- 
tives may have been a false one. If it was true, I will 
never condone the offense ! Never !” 

So, with her soul torn between love and wrath. Lady 
Arielle retired. 

Net went to her own apartments, stole on tiptoe into 
the nursery to look at the sleeping children and assure 
herself that they were safe and well, and then she 
offered up her private devotions and went to bed. 

Net also lay long awake, thinking of her friend, 
hoping and praying that Valdimir Desparde’s explana- 
tion of his most extraordinary and apparently most 
unpardonable conduct might prove satisfactory to Lady 
Arielle, and that a full reconciliation and reunion 
might make the lovers happy. 

The little clock on the mantel had struck twelve 
before Net fell asleep. 

Then she slept soundly for several hours, and dreamed 


DREAM OR VISION. 


221 


a painful but confused dream about Kit, of which she 
could i*nake nothing at all coherent. 

She was aroused from her sleep at last by a hurried 
rapping at her chamber door. 

She started up, only half awake, exclaiming con- 
fusedly : 

“ Well ? Yes ! Who is it } What is the matter ?” 

“ It is I, Net ! Open the door, dear !” answered the 
trembling voice of Lady Arielle. 

Net, much surprised, sprang out of bed and opened 
the door in a second. 

Pale as marble, in the early winter morning light, 
cold and shivering. Lady Arielle stood there in her 
white night-dress. 

“ My Dear ! What is the matter ?” exclaimed Net, 
in consternation. 

“ Let me get into bed with you, Net ! I — I — I ’ve 
seen — I ’ve seen — ” began the girl, but her voice died 
away in her shaking frame and chattering teeth. 

Net hurriedly turned down the warm bed-clothes and 
led her shuddering friend up to it. 

Arielle threw herself in and drew the covering up 
over her head and lay shaking as with a hard ague. 

Net hastily drew on her warm dre.ssing-gown and 
slippers, and then bent over the shuddering form that 
had taken possession of her bed. 

“ Arielle, dearest, what is it ? A chill or a fright ? 
Shall I call up the housekeeper ?” 

“ Oh, no, no, no I It is not a chill ! Call no one. 
Get into bed again ! It is not near time to rise ! 
You’ll take cold !” muttered the girl, in smothered 
tones, as she shivered and shook under the cover. 

“ But, Arielle, you need assistance. Let me — ” 

“ No, no ! It is the shock ! The fright ! Come to 
bed ! I ’ll tell you !” 


222 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


Net went and locked the chamber door and then got 
into bed and lay down beside the shaking girl, who at 
once clasped her closely like a frightened child. 

‘‘ Now, when you are sufficiently composed, you will 
tell me what has alarmed you,” said Net, in a soothing 
tone. 

But Arielle continued to shiver and cling to her 
friend in silence for a few moment’s longer ; then she 
said : 

“ Oh, Net ! You remember, after grandmamma left 
us I told you that I saw her sitting in her chair in my 
room ?” 

“Yes, dear, I remember you told me so,” replied 
the little woman ; forbearing, however, to utter her 
thought that it was only a delusion of the imagina- 
tion. 

“Well, Net, I was not afraid of her ; no, nor of 
grandpapa either, for I saw him also. Net, though I 
never told you so. I would not tell you because I 
thought you would only smile at me, as you did when 
I told you of my seeing grandmamma.” 

“ My dear, I thought you were the subject of some 
hallucination of your senses, the result of your weak- 
ened nervous system,” answered Net, gently. 

“ I know you did. And indeed my weakness made 
me more susceptible to impressions from the spirit 
world ; but. Net, they were real impressions. 1 did see 
my grandmother sitting in her own arm-chair in my 
room, within a week after her departure, and I did see 
my grandfather sitting at his study table when I 
opened the door one day.” 

“ Did you address either of them ?” 

“ No, for though I was not afraid of them, I was 
startled by their apparitions, and then they disap- 
peared.” 


DREAM OR VISION. 


223 


“ But you have not seen either of them lately ?” 

“ No, it was shortly after grandmamma departed 
that I saw her several times ; but never after the first 
few weeks. I have seen grandpapa but once.” 

“ Then it was not the apparition of either of these 
that frightened you ?” ventured Net. 

“ Oh, no ! oh, no ! I should not have been afraid of 
them ! T'hey looked so natural ! But this one — Oh-h~h !" 
shuddered Arielle, clinging to Net. 

“ Tell me all about it and you will feel better. I 
dare say it was a nightmare dream,” said Net, re-assur- 
ingly. 

“ A dream ! How could it have been a dream, when 
I never slept for one instant ? And ?s for the night- 
mare, I never had it in my life.” 

“ What was it, then, my darling 

“ I am going to tell you ! I have not been asleep to- 
night. I did not even doze. I was so wide awake. 
The room was so dark that towards morning, when the 
smouldering fire on the hearth went entirely out, I 
could see the first faint approach of day between the 
folds of the curtains and the slats of the shutters. I 
was watching that faint, increasing light, and saying to 
myself that — he — Valdimir — had just about reached 
Miston Junction, and while I was so watching, I heard 
the clock strike seven. Then feeling very tired, I 
closed my eyes and — ” 

Fell asleep,” added Net. 

No, I did not ! I fell into a quiet, conscious, restful 
state that seemed better than sleep. I lay enjoying this 
benign repose for some moments — I know not how long 
—when— oh. Net suddenly exclaimed the young lady, 
covering her eyes with her hands, as if to shut out some 
terrific vision that memory had conjured up visibly 
before them. 


224 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


“ Go on, my dear,” said her companion, in a low voice. 

“ Oh, Net ! With my eyes closed, with every sense 
closed in perfect rest, as I lay there I became aware — 
in some mysterious, occult manner, which was not 
through sight or hearing, or any material faculty — I say 
I became aware of some presence at my bedside. This awed 
me into a deeper quietude. Soon I seemed to hear, not 
through my bodily ears, but through my spirit — deep 
breathing over me. It laid me under a deathlike spell. 
Soon, out of this breathing issued sighs, softer than the 
softest notes of the Eolian harp, bearing these words : 
‘ See me. He slew me for sending the letter that saved you I ’ 
Then — oh, shall I ever get over it ! — then, out of the deep 
darkness loomed upon my sealed sight the shadowy 
form of a tall woman, clothed in long, black raiments. 
Spell-bound with awe, I could not move!, on speak, or 
breathe, while the shadowy, black-robed form grew out 
into more distinct outlines — a clear-cut, marble-white 
face, with fire-bright, azure eyes, and a long, cloudy 
vail of pallid, golden-hued hair. I had no power 
to draw my gaze, my mental sight, from that marble- 
white face, those fire-bright eyes, until I recognized Kit 
Ken ! Then I screamed, and the vision vanished !” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


MYSTERIES. 

Dread is the power of dreams! Who has not felt, 

When in the morning light such visions melt, 

How the vailed soul, though struggling to be free. 

Ruled by that deep, unfathomed mystery. 

Wakes, haunted by the thoughts of good or ill 
Whose shading influence pursues us still I 

Caroline Norton. 

As Arielle finished her strange recital, she clung to 
her friend and shook again as with an ague fit. 

Net was much amazed, not so much by the vision 
itself, which she explained mentally upon natural 
grounds, as by the effect it had had on Arielle. 

“ Well, my dear, what happened next ?” she inquired, 
thinking it best to encourage the terrified girl to talk 
and get the whole subject off her mind. 

“ Oh, then. Net, as soon as the awful vision vanished, 
I recovered my powers of motion ; I started up, sprang 
out of bed and ran to you. That is all. I feel better 

[225] 


226 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


now, since I have told you. Oh, Net, what do you think 
of it ?” piteously inquired the trembling girl. 

Net Fleming did not answer for some moments, but 
then she said, deprecatingly : 

Don’t you see, my dear, that this was only a dream ? 
While you were lying there so quietly, so restfully, as 
you describe yourself to have been, you unconsciously 
dropped asleep, though perhaps only for a moment, and 
dreamed all this.” 

“ No, no, no, I did not. Net ! Oh, Net ! how very, very 
hard you are to convince. But perhaps you have never 
in your life seen a supernatural form or heard a super- 
natural voice ?” 

No,” replied the sound-bodied and sound-minded 
little woman, “ I never have.” 

“ Well, then, of course it is of no use talking to you ! 
I might as well talk of light to a person born stone 
blind, or of music to one born stone deaf ! I don’t 
blame you for your incredulity. Net.” 

“ No, nor do I blame you for your illusions, dear,” 
smiled Net. 

The mantel clock struck eight. 

Net slipped out of bed and unlocked the chamber 
door and rang her bell, and then returned to bed, for 
the room was very cold. 

Nelly Lacy came in and made the fire. 

And the next minute the two children burst open the 
nursery door and ran in, in their night-gowns, and 
climbed up into Little Mammam’s bed, all unconscious 
that she had a companion. 

“ They are enough to put all the ghosts of Gehenna 
to flight ; are they not ?” laughed Net, as she returned 
their caresses. 

“ Hush^ oh^ hush !" breathed Arielle in an awestruck 
tone. 


MYSTERIES. 


227 


When the fire had warmed the room the friends arose. 

Lady Arielle went back to her own chamber, where 
she found another bright fire and her maid Lucy Lacy 
in attendance. 

Nelly Lacy took the children back to the nursery and 
dressed them. 

Net made her simple toilet, and went down stairs to 
the breakfast parlor. She was soon joined by her 
hostess, who, on entering, said : 

“ As we are alone, I have sent Lacy to tell Nelly to 
bring the children to breakfast with us. I know that 
they have been accustomed to breakfast with you. I 
forgot to do it earlier, and only thought of it when they 
came bursting in upon us up stairs.” 

“ How kind and thoughtful you are, dear Arielle.” 

I mean to be kind, but indeed I am not thoughtful. 
If I had been I should have had these children at table 
with us ever since Lord Beaudevere and Vivienne went 
away. Ah, no ! — But here are the children.” 

They all sat down at the table, and lingered over the 
breakfast until the clock struck ten. 

‘‘ Only two hours now, dear Net. Surely — surely — if 
all is right, they will be here in two hours !” exclaimed 
Lady Arielle, as she put her hand through Net’s bended 
elbow and leaned thereon, walking up and down the 
hall — for Arielle was too restless to sit down. 

But they had not to wait until noon for news. 

At half-past eleven, while the two friends were sitting 
in the smaller drawing-room in tasteful morning dresses, 
waiting with almost breathless impatience for the 
arrival of the expected visitors, Adams, the ladies’ foot- 
man entered with a note on a silver salver, which he 
handed to the young lady, saying : 

‘‘A groom from Cloudland brought it, my lady.” 

“ Well, take him to the servants’ hall and give him 


228 


BEANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


some refreshments while his horse rests,’' said Lady 
Arielle, scarcely able to curb her impatience until the 
man left the room. 

Then, with beating heart and burning cheeks, she 
tore open the note, which she saw was in Vivienne’s 
handwriting, and she read it, while Net watched her 
anxiously. 

Vivienne’s little missive was as follows : 

“ Cloudland, Dec. i6th, i8 — . 

“ My Dearest Arielle. — I write to save you some 
hours of useless anxiety. My brother arrived at Mis- 
ton Station in good health early this morning, and was 
met by Beaue. 

“ But, alack-a-day ! as the old folks used to say, he 
was subpoenaed as a witness upon some disturbance 
that occurred on the train, and had to go back to some 
station to testify. 

“ Beaue went with him, and sent the carriage back, 
with a note for me by the coachman to tell me of this 
annoying contretemps, and to say that 1 must not expect 
them back until late to-night. Did you ever hear of 
anything more provokfng in your life ? I have no 
words strong enough to express my disgust and abhor- 
rence of this state of affairs. 

“ I shall sit up for them to-night, and send them both 
up to see you early to-morrow morning. And in the 
meantime, with love to Net and the children, I am your 
own “ Vivienne.” 

Arielle read this over to herself, and then read it 
aloud to Net. 

“ Now is not this the most vexatious thing that could 
possibly happen ? It really makes me feel ill. I can 
appreciate now the old proverb that says : ‘ Hope 


MYSTERIES. 


229 


deferred maketh the heart sick.’ My heart is sick. 
Twenty-four hours more ! Oh, dear Net ! Couldn’t 
you chloroform me, and keep me under the influence 
of that pain-killing drug until this time to-morrow 
morning ?” she inquired, with a piteous look in the face 
• of her friend. 

“ It is very trying, I know, dear Arielle ; but you 
must be brave and patient. It will not seem so long. 
The day is already half spent, the night you will sleep 
away, because you did not sleep last night, and to-mor- 
row morning you will have nothing to do but to expect 
your visitors,” said Net, hopefully. 

Arielle sighed deeply, thinking within her own mind 
that if she could feel certain Valdimir Desparde had not 
been so false to her as to haye married another woman, 
and if it would not be so unmaidenly, she could find it 
in her heart to take Net and go to Cloudland to share 
the vigil of Vivienne, and so meet Valdimir half a day 
sooner. 

She controlled this passionate desire so completely 
that Net did not even suspect its existence. 

But the day passed very heavily with Arielle, who 
could settle herself to nothing. 

When bed-time came Arielle said to her friend : 

Net, dear, I am really afraid to sleep alone. I wish 
you would let me share your room this one night. 
Should I disturb you, do you think ?” 

“ Why, no, dear ! I am usually a very good sleeper, 
not easily disturbed. How should I be when I have 
been accustomed for the last four years to sleep between 
two kicking children ? I shall be glad of your com- 
pany.” 

So that night the two girls slept together, and slept 
soundly until morning. 


230 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


They arose blithely too, and soon after breakfast they 
began to look for their longed-for visitors. 

But another disappointment awaited them. 

Again Adams appeared with a little, cream-colored 
note on a silver salver. 

Arielle grew dizzy as she took it and tore it open. 

It contained only a few informal lines, as follows ; 

“ Beaue is a fox, an old fox, a sly old fox ! He did 
not inform me yesterday morning of the nature of the 
disturbance that detained Valdimir. And last night he 
came home without my brother. And when I brought 
him to bay he had to confess that Valdimir was person- 
ally interested in that ‘ disturbance that in point of 
fact, said ^disturbance’ was caused by my brother’s 
having been robbed while in the railway carriage, of 
the most valuable family jewel in his possession ! a 
jewel worth all the landed property in the family. I 
suppose it is the great historical diamond called ‘ Sirius.’ 
I thought that jewel was sate in the vaults of my cousin’s 
banker. How careless of Valdimir to carry it about 
him. 

“ I will tell you this : if ever it should come into my 
possession — which is scarcely possible — 1 should sell it 
to some sovereign with more cash than common sense, 
and invest the price in solid real estate with a sure title 
that could neither be lost nor stolen. 

“ Well, Valdimir has gone back ever so far on his 
track in search of this stolen jewel, and will not return 
until he has recovered it. 

“ Beaue says that there is no doubt it will be recov- 
ered. A jewel of such worth cannot long be lost. 

“ Beaue only came home to relieve m)^ anxiety, and 
went back this morning to rejoin Valdimir and assist in 
the search. 


MYSTERIES. 


231 


am laid up with a dreadful cold in the head, 
caught through standing out in the night air watching 
for Valdimir. 

“ Take warning by my fate and don’t watch. 

“ Love to Net and babies. 

“ Your own Vivienne.” 

Arielle read the letter and passed it over to Net, with- 
out a word of comment, but with a look of comic des- 
pair, if such a term be allowable. 

She was very far from suspecting the gravity of the 
matter that detained her lover. 

Net in turn read the le.tter, and passed it back to its 
owner, only saying : 

“ It is the fate of Tantalus.” 

The footman who had brought in the letter stood 
waiting orders. ^ 

“ Go, Adams, and bring me the morning’s papers. If 
that robbery took place night before last, there must be 
some notice of in this morning’s TunesT 

“ Beg pardon, my lady, but no papers have come this 
morning,” replied the man. 

“ Why, how is that ? It is one o’clock ! They should 
have been here before now.” 

“ They have not come, my lady.” 

“ Well, go ; and as soon as they do come bring them 
to me. Yet stay ! I must write a line of acknowledg- 
ment to Miss Desparde. I did not reply to her note 
yesterday,” added Arielle, in an aside to Net. 

She sat down to a writing-table near the fireplace 
and scribbled off a hasty note, very guarded, however, 
in its wording, not by any means exposing the extrem- 
ity of her own anxiety and impatience, but only express- 
ing her own and Net Fleming’s sympathy with Vivi- 
enne's disappointment and indisposition, and their 


232 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE- 


hopes of her brother’s speedy arrival and her own happy 
recovery, 

She read this letter also to Net and then sealed, 
directed and dispatched it by Adams to Miss Desparde’s 
waiting messenger. 

All that day Lady Arielle waited and watched for 
the daily newspapers that failed to come. 

She did not know that her guardian had caused them 
to be stopped, lest they should shock her with the news 
of Valdimir Desparde’s arrest on the dreadful charge 
of murder. 

She blamed the unlucky newsagent, and denounced 
him in no measured terms. 

“ Jobson has a monopoly at Miston ! He is too inde- 
pendent ! He neglects his business ! There should be 
a rival establishment there, which I should certainly 
patronize ! The idea of his neglecting to send the 
papers to-day !” she exclaimed for the twentieth time. 

Net laughed. 

“ Poor Jobson !” she said — “ any one of a dozen acci- 
dents may have happened to prevent his sending the 
papers. And as to his ‘ monopoly,’ it hardly puts bread 
enough into his hungry children’s mouths ! I wish you 
could see them, poor things !” 

“ Oh, Net, I am a selfish wretch, and all my goodness 
is not skin deep ! The minute anything crosses me, I 
am bad ! That is, I mean, 1 find out how bad I am !” 
said Arielle, half lightly, half penitently. 

Net did not contradict or flatter her. It was not 
Net’s way. 

Still another weary day and night passed, and then 
at length, something happened ; but it was not what 
they had expected. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

Vivienne's woe. 

Sorrow and sin, and suffering and strife, 

Have now been cast in the stream of my life ; 

And they have gone up to the fountain head. 

And all that flows thence is embittered. 

Yet still that fountain up to Heaven springs. 

And still the stream, where’er it wanders, sings 
And still, where’er it hath found leave to rest. 

The blessed sun looks down upon its breast ; 

And it reflects, as in a mirror fair. 

The image of all beauty shining there. 

F. A Kemble. 

Lord Beaudevere continued his daily visits to Yock- 
ley prison, although the journey there and back, and 
the hour spent with his unhappy kinsman, took the 
whole of every day. 

So long as he could prevent Jobson from sending the 
newspapers to Montjoie Castle and to Cloudland he 
had hopes that the disastrous news of Valdimir Des- 
parde’s arrest and imprisonment on the terrible charge 
of murder might not reach the ladies of either house, 
for Lady Arielle lived in strict seclusion since the 

[233J 


234 : 


BRANDON COTLE S WIFE. 


death of her grandfather, and Miss Desparde was con- 
fined to her room by a severe cold. 

But as the days went on, and the news spread from 
one to another all over the country, until it was in 
everybody’s mouth. Lord Beaudevere perceived how 
futile were his plans to keep it concealed from his 
wards. 

Any day, a word from a tradesman might reveal the 
calamity to a servant or a child, who might bring it 
suddenly to either of the houses from which he so 
earnestly desired to keep it. 

He deemed it, therefore, best that he should himself 
gently break the matter to Vivienne and send her 
with the intelligence to Lady Arielle. 

In accordance with this plan, he delayed his daily 
visit to Valdimir for a couple of hours, and met Vivi- 
enne at breakfast, to which she was now sufficiently 
recovered to come down. 

She herself unwittingly led up to the subject. 

Oh, indeed !” she exclaimed, as soon as she entered 
the breakfast -room and saw him waiting there for her. 

You do not mean to say that you are going to sit 
down to the table with me this morning ? Why, I have 
not had the honor of your company for seven days ! 
What has happened ? Is the lost jewel, the great 
diamond, Sirius, found at last ? If so, when shall I see 
my truant brother ? Or is he detained to identify his 
property and — the thief V she saucily demanded. 

Pour out my coffee, Vivi, and I will tell you all 
about it after breakfast,” replied the baron. 

The girl sat down and did as he desired. 

After breakfast was over the baron arose and said : 

“Come into the library, my love. I have something 
to say to you.” 

His manner and tone of voice alarmed the girl, and 


VIVlENNE^S WOE. 


235 


prepared her in some degree for what she was destined 
to hear. 

She followed her guardian into the library, sat down 
opposite to him, and leaning upon the table, said : 

“ Now, Beaue, I know by your looks, that ypu have 
bad news to tell me ! Out with it ! Don’t break it to 
me for pity’s sake ! Breaking bad news is like amputat- 
ing the dog’s leg an inch at a time ! Tell me in one 
word. What has happened to Valdimir ?” 

“ Then, in one word, he is in prisoiiy' answered the 
baron, solemnly. 

The girl stared at him as if she did not comprehend. 

“ He is — what?” she demanded, in an uncertain tone. 

“ Valdimir is in prison” repeated the baron. 

‘ In — prison ?’ ” slowly echoed the girl, still staring 
at the speaker — “ ‘ in prison ?’ Why — how is that ? 
How can that be ? Is Valdimir in debt ? In debt 
beyond his ability to pay ? Oh, Beaue ! Why did you 
not tell me ! Now I know what you meant by the most 
precious jewel that he had lost ! It was not the dia- 
mond Sirius. It was his precious liberty that he had 
lost ! Oh, Beaue ! why did you not tell me the truth 
and not prevaricate with me ? I would have given 
every penny I possess in the world to release Valdimir ! 
You know it, Beaue !” exclaimed the girl, as the tears 
sprang to her eyes. 

“ My dear,” replied the baron, in a choked voice, “ I 
also would give every farthing I own on earth to 
release Valdimir from prison, if money could do it ! 
But money cannot do it, my girl. All the money in all 
the banks in this world could not do it ! Valdimir is 
not in prison for debt, Vivienne.” 

“ Beaue ! ! What do you mean ? What is Valdimir 
in prison for ?” cried the girl, growing marble pale. 

** Brace yourself, Vivienne ! Be firm ! There is 


236 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


nothing to fear. Be sure of that. Now, do you believe 
me when I tell you that there is nothing, absolutely 
nothings to fear for your brother ?” earnestly inquired 
the baron, taking her hand and looking deeply into her 
wild and terrified eyes. 

“Yes, yes, of course I believe you, Beaue ! I could 
never seriously doubt your word. But — what — oh ! what 
is my brother in prison for ?“ she cried, clasping and 
wringing her hands. 

“On a charge — Be firm now, Vivienne, for the 
charge can be disproved ! I assure you that it can, and 
you must believe me — “ 

“ Yes ! yes ! But what is the charge ?” she demanded, 
wringing her hands. 

“ Murder 

Vivienne shrieked and covered her face with her 
hands. 

“ I told you it could be disproved, my dear,” said the 
baron, gently. 

Vivienne did not answer. 

“ I told you there was nothing to fear for Valdimir,” 
continued the baron. 

She did not reply. 

“ And there really is nothing to fear. He is sure to 
be acquitted. I hope you believe me, Vivienne.” 

“ He — has — been — fighting a duel, then, and killed 
his antagonist ?” she inquired, as if each word tortured 
her in its utterance, and without uncovering her face. 

“ No, no, dear ! I am happy to assure you that he has 
not. He has not been fighting at all. He has not killed 
anybody. Did I not tell you the charge was a false 
one ?” inquired the baron, in an encouraging tone of 
voice. 

“ Then, how came he to be accused ?” demanded the 
girl, dropping her hands from her deadly pale face and 


Vivienne’s woe. 


237 


raising eyes wild with anguish to the face of her guard- 
ian. 

“ It is a case of circumstantial evidence, sure to be 
disproved, my love. I will tell you all about it. Come ! 
rally yourself ! You are a brave young woman !” 

“ Give me a glass of water, Beaue,” she asked, in a 
faint voice. 

The baron went to a little private cabinet of his own 
and poured out a small glass of rich old port and made 
her drink it all. 

The cordial old wine revived her failing powers, and 
she sat back in her chair and prepared to listen. 

Then Lord Beaudevere told her, as gently and deli- 
cately as he possibly could tell such a tale, the story of 
the reserved compartment taken by the mysterious 
stranger for himself and his female companion at Pad- 
dington, and afterwards ignorantly and innocently en- 
tered at the Grand Junction by Valdimir Desparde, who 
found what he believed to be a sleeping woman as the 
sole other occupant of the compartment, and who trav- 
eled all the rest of the way to Miston Branch Junction 
with the corpse of a murdered woman, for whose assas- 
sination he had been falsely arrested and imprisoned. 

“ But do not be anxious, my dear. Of course, such a 
charge as that can be fully disproved,” said the baron, 
in concluding his story. 

“ Who was the woman — do they know ?” inquired 
Vivienne, in a low voice. 

“ A girl that belonged to Miston, I regret to say — 
a girl who was once in the service of your young friend, 
Mrs. Fleming, and whose poor little letter to Lady 
Arielle saved her ladyship from an unfortunate mar- 
riage.” 

“ Not Kit Ken ?” exclaimed Vivienne, in amazement. 

“ Yes, poor Kit Ken.” 


238 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ Oh, I am very sorry ! Poor girl ! Ah ! then there 
can be no doubt as to who her slayer was.” 

“ You suspect Brandon Coyle ?” 

“ I more than suspect him, for I heard the words and 
saw the scowl of vengeance with which he left Castle 
Montjoie on the day poor Kit's letter was read.” 

“ Oh, ah, yes ! you heard those threats of vengeance, 
did you, my dear ?” 

“ Indeed I did ! and I saw the look that accompanied 
them.” 

“We may, then, want you to testify. But, Vivienne, 
do you know — have you any idea where the scamp went 
when he left Castle Montjoie ?” 

“ Not the slightest. How should I, Beaue ?” 

“ I thought possibly you might have seen or heard 
through Aspirita.” 

“ No, indeed ; I have not set eyes on Aspirita, or got 
a word from her, since the day she left Castle Mont- 
joie. I feel very sorry for the humiliation of that poor 
girl. It certainly is not her fault that her brother is a 
villain,” said Vivienne, who was far from suspecting 
how deeply imbued the sister was with the brother’s 
hereditary evils. 

“ The detectives are looking him up, but they have 
got no trace as yet. And now, Vivienne, my dear, I 
wish you to go to Castle Montjoie and inform Lady 
Arielle of the situation of affairs, before she can hear of 
it from any other source.” 

“ Oh, Beaue ! what a terrible task to impose upon 
me ! I cannot ! I cannot, indeed ! Besides, I intend to 
go with you this morning and see my poor, dear 
brother,” replied the young lady. 

“ I am not going to see him to-day. He will be 
engaged with his counsel the whole day. Do you know 
his trial is fixed for Monday week ?” 


Vivienne’s woe, 


239 


“ Good Heaven, Beaue !” 

“ I told you not to be afraid. He is certain to be hon- 
orably acquitted. But what I wish to impress upon 
you now is the fact that he will not have time to 
receive a visit from you to-day. So you had better go 
this morning to Castle Montjoie.” 

“ Beaue ! 1 will go there with you^ if you choose to 

take me ; but I will not go alone to carry the burden 
of such a terrible story to Lady Arielle — especially after 
deluding her as well as myself with mistaken theories of 
Valdimir’s detention ! I will not, Beaue !” said Vivienne, 
in a tone that assured the baron all further argument 
would be useless. 

“ Well, well, perhaps I had better go with you, if it is 
only to set the poor fellow in a proper light before his 
lady’s eyes. Be ready as soon as you can, my dear. I 
will order the carriage,” said Lord Beaudevere. 

“ I will be ready in fifteen minutes, Beaue,” replied 
Vivienne, hurrying away to her own chamber. 

Arrived there, however, she stood still in the middle 
of the floor, transfixed by the thought that her brother 
was in prison on the charge of murder, and was about 
to be tried for his life ! She forgot everything else, 
until a footman rapped at the door, with his lord’s com- 
pliments and the carriage was waiting. 

Then she started, went to a wardrobe, threw a sable 
circular around her shoulders, put on a velvet hat, seized 
her muff and gloves and ran down stairs to join her 
guardian. 

“ Is this what you call fifteen minutes, my dear ? I 
waited twenty before I sent for you,” said the baron as 
he handed her into the carriage. 

“ I beg your pardon, Beaue. I did not know,” she 
answered, vaguely and with a deep sigh. 

“ Vivienne, you do not place confidence in me when I 


240 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


assure yon that your brother’s life and honor are in no 
serious danger,” said Lord Beaudevere, as they drove 
on ; and he noticed her continued depression of spirits. 

“ Oh, I do, I do, Beaue I But do you think it possible 
for me to rally my spirits while my brother is in prison 
on such an awful charge ?” she murmured, between pale 
lips. 

” But, my dear, I hope you will be able to command 
yourself before we go into Arielle’s presence. She has 
been very severely tried of late.” 

“ Beaue,” said the young lady, very sadly, “ I think 
there is another trouble and disappointment instore for 
poor Valdimir. Even when he shall be honorably ac- 
quitted of this charge there is another against him that 
he cannot disprove and Arielle will not condone.” 

“ And what is that ?” inquired the baron, elevating 
his eyebrows. 

“Valdimir’s low marriage! The death of his wife 
and child may have freed him from the ties, but cannot 
affect his future relations with Lady Arielle, who will 
never condone the offense,” answered Vivienne. 

‘“His low marriage!’ Rubbish! Valdimir never 
was married !” impatiently exclaimed the baron. 

‘‘ No ? Why — we all believed— the detectives all told 
— I don't understand,” muttered Vivienne, with a per- 
plexed look. 

“The detectives were all at sea ; all misled by false 
appearances. Listen,” said the baron ; and he began 
and told the story of Valdimir Desparde’s accidental 
meeting with Annek Yok and her child on the pier at 
New York, the morning of his arrival there, and of his 
subsequent care of the poor widow and her babe until 
he placed them under the protection of her two broth- 
ers in New Orleans ; of their final death by yellow 
fever, and of Valdimir Desparde’s devotion to the suf- 


Vivienne’s woe. 


241 


ferers from the fearful plague during the whole period 
of its reign. 

“ Oh, 1 am so rejoiced at that ; or I should be if Val- 
dimir were not in prison. At any rate I — it is a drop 
of comfort in my cup of sorrow. But, since it was not 
a low marriage that drove Valdimir so suddenly from 
his native shores, what on earth was it ?'* earnestly de- 
manded Vivienne. 

“ Ah ! thereby hangs another tale. I do not know 
that I shall have a better opportunity of telling you 
than the present one. I will save time. Now give me 
your attention,” said the baron. 

And while Vivienne listened with the most sympa- 
thetic interest, Lord Beaudevere gave her first of all a 
sketch of Brandon and Aspirita Coyle’s early history, 
with the disgraceful career and ignominious death of 
their father, under the false alias of a noble name — that 
of Desparde — and of the fraud practiced upon Valdi- 
mir by Brandon, which was rendered practicable and 
even plausible by the identity of names and the total 
ignorance in which young Desparde had been left of 
his own early history. 

“ And my brother believed himself to be the son of 
that executed murderer who had taken his father’s 
stainless name for an alias!" exclaimed Vivienne, in 
surprise and scorn. 

“ Yes, circumstances seemed to bear out the story 
told by Brandon Coyle.” 

“ I hope it is not necessary to tell Arielle such a hor- 
rible tale,” added Vivienne. 

“ No ; it will be only necessary to say that a decep- 
tion had been practiced upon Valdimir by making him 
believe that his own father had been guilt}" of a felony 
which had been committed by a villain who had 
assumed his name. I shall not go into particulars with 


242 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


Lady Arielle ; it would be exceedingly bad form for 
me to do so. All that she will need to know is, that 
Valdimir was never married to any one, and never 
unfaithful to her in thought, word or deed ; but that be 
left in the way he did from the most honorable motives. 
I shall assure Lady Arielle of this and leave my boy’s 
fate, with great confidence, in her hands.” 

This conversation had occupied the whole two hours 
of their journey and ceased only as their carriage passed 
under the great archway. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

arielle’s visitors arrive. 

Oh, there are moments for us here, when seeing 
Life’s inequalities, and woe, and care. 

The burdens laid upon our mortal being 

Seem heavier than the human heart can bear. 

For there are ills that come without foreboding, 
Lightnings that fall before the thunder’s roll. 

And these festering cares that by corroding 
Eat silently their way into the soul. 

And for the evils that our race inherit. 

Is no strength given us that we may endure! 

Yes! for the Heavenly Father of our spirit 
Permits no sorrow that He cannot cure. 

Phebe Cary. 

It was noon, and the two friends, Arielle Montjoie 
and Net Fleming, were sitting together in the morning 
room, trying to interest themselves in the silk flower 


ARIELLE S VISITORS ARRIVE. 


243 


embroidery that Arielle had learned from the late 
countess and was now attempting to teach Net. But 
the young lady was rather absent-minded, and made 
many mistakes. 

“ Arielle, dear, I never heard of a blue rose in my 
life ! Surely — ” began Net, but her teacher cut her 
short with : 

“ Am I beginning a rose with blue silk ? So I am ! I 
must have been thinking of a violet,” and she unthreaded 
her needle and began to pick out the stitches. 

“ You were thinking of Valdimir Desparde,” thought 
Net, but she said nothing. 

“ My Lord Beaudevere and Miss Desparde,” said a 
footman, throwing open the door. 

The baron and his young ward walked into the room. 

Lady Arielle started and dropped her embroidery 
frame, but the next instant she recovered her self-pos- 
session and received her visitors with all that patrician 
repose 

“ That marks the caste of Vere de Vere.” 

Net followed her example, and when their mutual 
greetings were over, seats were offered and accepted by 
the new arrivals. 

Arielle was “ expiring ” for news of Valdimir, but not 
to have prolonged her own life would she have put the 
question in regard to him before learning whether he 
were worthy of her interest. 

Net felt no such reluctance to make inquiries. She 
sympathized with Arielle’s anxiety and almost shared 
it, and she compassionated the dreary pride that pre- 
vented the young lady from relieving her own sus- 
pense ; and so she turned to Lord Beaudevere and said : 

“ It was very vexatious— Mr. Desparde having been 
robbed of that family jewel, just as he arrived in the 


244 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


country after so long an absence. I hope he has recov- 
ered it, or got such a clew that he may do so soon and 
come home to his friends.” 

“ No, my dear, he has not yet recovered it, and he is 
still detained by its loss and occupied in trying to 
regain it,” replied Lord Beaudevere, evasively. 

Lady Arielle secretly thanked Net for the question 
and eagerly listened to the answer and to all the words 
that followed. 

“ What hope is there of his recovering it ?” inquired 
Net. 

“ Every hope, my dear. A jewel of that value can- 
not long be lost.” 

“ And when shall we see Mr. Desparde — at Christ- 
mas ? It is very near, you know.” 

“ I trust so, my dear Mrs. Fleming.” 

Net said no more, and after a few moments’ silence 
Lord Beaudevere turned to his youngest ward and 
said : 

“ Arielle, my love, I have a little business to transact 
with you. Will you favor me with a few minutes’ con- 
versation in the library ?” 

“Certainly, my dear guardian, if our friends here 
will excuse us,” replied the young lady, with a smile 
on her companion. 

“ Of course,” “Assuredly,” answered the two visitors, 
with ready courtesy. 

“And, Vivienne, you may enlighten Mrs. Fleming 
while we are gone,” said the baron, as he gave his arm 
to his ward and led her out of the room. 

When they reached the library. Lord Beaudevere 
made Arielle sit down in the great arm-chair that had 
once been her grandfather’s. 

Then he drew another and seated himself beside her 
and took her hand, saying : 


arielle's visitors arrive. 


245 


“Arielle, my dear child, I have both good and ill 
news to tell you. But, to fortify your mind, I will tell 
you first of all that Valdimir Desparde is alive and in 
health, and that he is worthy of your continued 
regard.” 

She had grown very pale at the first clause of his 
speech, and now, at the concluding words, she flushed 
rosy red. 

“A false story was brought to us, my love, through 
a mistake of the detectives, and a forged letter was sent 
to you by a dastardly traitor ! Valdimir Desparde was 
never faithless to you, Arielle ; he was never married, 
nor ever attracted to any woman save yourself.” 

The baron paused to note the effect of these words 
on Lady Arielle. 

Her face was radiant with the flush of joy, her eyes 
beaming with light. 

“ I had sometimes thought he was faithful, in the 
face of all adverse evidence. In the face of his flight 
upon our wedding morning, and the detective’s report 
of his wife and child, and the forged letter confessing 
his marriage — yes, in the face of all these, I have in my 
heart of heart dared to believe that he was faithful ! 
Yet I could not act upon this belief,” murmured Arielle, 
in a tone of joy too deep for expression. 

“ The heart is often wiser than the head, my Arielle. 
And now, do you surmise who the forger of that false 
letter was ?” 

“ Yes, I do. It was Brandon Coyle.” 

“ The very same, my dear. The remorseless villain 
who has been at the root of all your woes ; whose 
fraudulent story, supported by unfortunate circum- 
stances, it was that sent my young kinsman, in his 
unstained honor, a most wretched fugitive from his 
native land !” 


246 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


“ Oh, how could he do that ?” breathed Arielle. 

“ You shall hear later, my dear. Brandon Coyle had 
all the subtlety, duplicity, and malignity of an incar- 
nate fiend. He paused at nothing. Lately, I think, he 
has added murder to his list of crimes.” 

Murder r uttered Lady Arielle, in a half suppressed 
cry. 

“ Yes, my dear. Very sorry am I to enter upon such 
a theme with you ; but I began by warning you, my 
love; that I had bad news to communicate as well as 
good,”' said the baron, solemnly. 

“ But — since Valdimir is alive, well, and constant, 
and since nearly all I love in the world are under this 
roof, at this hour, I do not see what ill news you have 
to tell that can affect us — Stay !” she suddenly 
exclaimed. “ Has that evil man — injured — killed — any 
one in whom we are interested ? Not — not his uncle ?” 
inquired the young lady, in a half hushed voice. 

“ No, not his uncle,” answered the baron. 

“ I — feared it might be so from the way in which 
you spoke, and from remembering that the uncle and 
nephew had left here in bad blood, and the first had 
threatened to make a will and disinherit the last.” 

“ It was not old Mr. Coyle, who is alive and well. 
Yet it was some one in whom we are all interested 
somewhat,” answered the baron, watching the effect of 
his words on his hearer. 

But Lady Arielle only looked perplexed and com- 
passionate. 

“ Who was it, then, Baron ?” she inquired. 

It was poor Kit Ken.” 

Lord Beaudevere was hardly prepared for the effect 
these words had upon Lady Arielle. She started for- 
ward, the blood rushed up to her temples, her eyes 
dilated and fixed themselves in a prolonged stare upon 


arielle’s visitors arrive. 


247 


those of the speaker, and her voice was hoarse and 
almost inaudible as she echoed the words : 

“ Kit Km r 

Yes, my dear. But what is the matter ? Surely — ” 

But before the baron could utter another word Lady 
Arielle had fallen back in her chair, her arms dropped 
by her side, her face pallid as that of a corpse, her eyes 
closed, and her lips open. 

“ Arielle ! Arielle, my child ! Why — " began the 
baron, and then he put forth his hand to ring the bell. 

But her hand was laid on his to stop the action. Her 
touch was as cold as ice, and her voice was like the 
sigh of death as she inquired : 

“ When did this occur 

“ This death ? This murder ?” 

“.Yes.” 

“Thursday night, or perhaps Friday morning. The 
crime was committed at night in a railway carriage. Let 
me get you a glass of wine,” said the baron, rising then 
and hurrying to the dining-room, for he knew the ways 
of the house. 

There he found the table laid for luncheon, and the 
footman in attendance. 

Without calling on the servant at all he poured out a 
glass of sherry from a decanter that stood upon the 
table and took it into the library to Lady Arielle, who 
had already partly recovered from the shock she had 
received. 

She took the glass, drank the wine, and thanked the 
baron. 

“ My dear, I regret very much having given you so 
rude a shock. I would not have done so could I have 
avoided the communication,” said Lord Beaudevere, 
with much concern. 

“ Never mind, my dear guardian. Go on with your 


248 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


Story. Do not be alarmed for me ; I shall not fail 
again,” said Arielle, rallying her spirits. 

She did not tell the baron the real cause of her ex- 
treme agitation — the dream, or vision, she had had of 
poor Kit Ken, on the very night of her murder. She 
did not speak of this experience because she did not 
wish to be laughed at by the baron as she had been by 
Net Fleming. 

But, ah ! Lord Beaudevere felt very unlike laughing 
at anything or anybody under present circumstances. 

“ Are you sure, my dear Arielle, that you can be 
brave and strong enough to hear the rest of this story ?” 

“ Yes, I can, my guardian. Since Valdimir is alive, 
well, faithful, and not far off from us, I am not afraid to 
hear anything you have to tell me,” answered Arielle. 

Then indeed Lord Beaudevere began, and with as 
much tenderness and delicacy as it was possible to 
approach a subject so terrible and revolting, he told her 
the story of that horrible midnight ride from his own 
point of view, beginning with the engagement of the 
reserved compartment on the Northwestern train, at 
Paddington Station, by an unknown man, for himself 
and his female companion, whom Lord Beaudevere did 
not hesitate to describe as Brandon Coyle and Kit Ken, 

In this manner he led gradually up to the denouement 
of that night’s doings, still from his own standpoint— 
telling how the man’s form was concealed in a long 
ulster and his face shadowed by a cap with a low brim 
or visor ; how he must have murdered his companion 
and arranged her figure and her dress to appear as if 
she were sleeping, and that he must have done all this 
between Peterborough and the Grand Junction, where 
he got off and quietly left the train to take some other. 

How, at the Grand Junction, Valdimir Desparde, 
coming up from Southampton, had got on the train, 


arielle’s visitors arrive. 


249 


and being also clothed in a black ulster, and having his 
head covered with a cap and his face shaded by the 
drooping visor, and being of the same height and size 
of Brandon Coyle, had been mistaken by the guard for 
the man who had engaged the reserved compartment 
and had by him been ushered into it. 

How, finding the compartment dimly lighted and 
occupied only by one woman, whom he supposed to be 
sleeping, he had refrained from turning up the light, 
lest it should disturb the sleeper, and had ridden all 
the way to the Miston Branch Junction, and there left 
the train for the Miston special, quite ignorant that his 
traveling companion for so many hours was a corpse. 

“ And now, my dear Arielle, are you prepared for a 
misapprehension on the part of the authorities that has 
subjected us all to some annoyance and inconvenience ?” 
inquired Lord Beaudevere, gently. 

She changed color again, and began to tremble. 

“ They never can have suspected Valdimir Desparde 
of that assassination she faltered. 

“ Yes, my dear, they have ; but the suspicion can be 
easily disproved,” the baron hastened to say, fearing 
tlie consequences of his announcement. 

“ Is that — is that — what has detained him at Yockley ?” 
she inquired. 

“ Yes, my, dear, though his detention is but a matter 
of a few days. As soon as we can find some of his fel- 
low travelers who came up with him from Southamp- 
ton, to prove an alibi, he will be set at liberty.” 

‘“Set at liberty!’” echoed Lady Arielle, her blue 
eyes dilating with terror, with horror. ” Why— why— 
he is not restrained of his liberty ? Valdimir Desparde 
cannot be — they can never have dared to take him in 
custody !” 

“ My dear, the law is no respecter of persons ; if he 


250 


BRANDON COYLE 'S WIFE. 


had been a prince of the blood royal, they would have 
taken him into custody under the circumstances ! But 
do not be alarmed. It is an inconvenience, an annoy- 
ance, but nothing more. There can be no danger. It 
is only a matter of a-little time,” said the baron. 

“ When — was — he — taken ?” falteringly inquired the 
girl. 

“On the very morning of his arrival at Miston, 
where I met him at the station, and where we went 
to breakfast at the Dolphin. The murder was not 
discovered until the train reached Yockley. Then a 
party of ladies and children who were crowding into 
the carriage found out that the woman in the corner 
was a corpse, and gave the alarm. Investigation was 
made, and the guard, who had recognized Valdimir 
Desparde at the Grand Junction, and mistaken him for 
the man who had engaged for himself and his female 
companion the reserved compartment in which the girl 
was afterwards found murdered, gave information which 
caused a warrant to be made out for the arrest of Mr. 
Desparde.” 

“ How long has Valdimir been — in prison ?” inquired 
Arielle, as if the words choked her. 

“ Several days,” answered the baron, after a pause 
for calculation. 

“ And all this time you have left me in ignorance of 
his condition, Lord Beaudevere !” said the girl, re- 
proachfully. 

“ My dear, I had hoped that something would have 
turned up ere this to have set him at liberty, and that 
you might never have had occasion to be pained by the 
news of his arrest, I kept you in ignorance from this 
hope,” replied the baron. 

Many other questions were asked and answered, and 
then Arielle said : 


arielle’s visitors arrive. 


251 


“ My dear guardian, you must take me to see my 
betrothed to-morrow. I would go to-day were there 
time enough left.” 

“ But, my dear Arielle !” 

” It is of no use to argue with me, Lord Beaudevere ! 
Valdimir is my betrothed ! All that has happened 
since that broken wedding-day is as a dream dispersed. 
I am going to visit my betrothed in his trouble,” firmly 
replied the young lady. 

“ Well, well, my dear, I spoke only in your own 
interests. If you are resolved to go I will take you, and 
Vivienne also, to-morrow. And in this case I think 
that my cousin and myself will have to trespass on your 
hospitality to night,” said the baron. 

“ It will be a comfort to have you,” replied Arielle, 
earnestly. 

“ I will send the coachman back with the carriage to 
tell the household not to expect us home to night. And 
we can be indebted to you for the use of your equipage 
to take us to the train to-morrow.” 

This being agreed upon the baron arose and gave 
Lady Arielle his arm to take her back to join their 
friends in the drawing-room. 


V 



CHAPTER XXV. 

THE TEST OF LOVE. 

Mightier far 

Than strength of nerve, or sinew, or the sway 
Of magic, potent over sun and star, 

Is love, though oft to agony distrest, 

And though his favorite seat be feeble woman’s breast. 

Wordsworth. 

Has she not set at naught her noble birth. 

The high won fame of an historic race. 

Peace of retirement and pride of woman ? 

Her prodigality has given him all. Rowe. 

When Lord Beaudevere and Lady Arielle returned 
to the drawing room, where they had left Mrs. Fleming 
and Miss Desparde alone together, they discovered at a 
glance that Vivienne had put Net in possession of the 
whole truth in regard to the detention of Valdimir — the 
tragic fate of poor Kit Ken, and the accusation of her 
murder resting on Mr. Desparde. 

They had scarcely resumed their seats before Net 
spoke up suddenly, impulsively : 

“ This is the most shocking event I have ever heard 
of in my life ! But there is not the slightest doubt in the 
world as to the identity of the murderer ! Have you 
[252J 


\ 


THE TEST OF LOVE. 


253 


caused Brandon Coyle to be looked up ?” she finished 
by inquiring. 

“ Certainly, my dear ! My suspicion fell upon that 
gentleman from the first, and it is supported by the 
opinion of poor Kit Ken’s father. I have employed de- 
tectives to search for Coyle and watch him. You do 
not happen to have heard anything of him very lately ?” 

“ Nothing whatever since he left Montjoie, after the 
discovery of his evil deeds ” 

“ It is very strange the skilled detectives I have 
employed have not yet struck his trail, as the North 
American Indians would say. But I expect almost 
hourly to hear from them on the subject.” 

“ In the meantime the trial draws ominously near !” 
sighed Vivienne. 

Lady Arielle grew pale. 

“ Nonsense ! Nonsense, my dears ! You must not 
take a dark view of this subject ! There was scarcely 
evidence enough before the magistrate to justify him 
in committing Valdimir for trial ! Even if nothing 
.should be heard of the real criminal, there is certainly 
not evidence enough to convict Desparde in the opin- 
ion of any judge or jury that ever existed ! But I am 
convinced that we shall get news before the trial. 
Have some faith in the protection of Divine Providence 
over the innocent.” 

“ Sometimes the innocent are permitted to suffer,” 
thought Net, but she said nothing. 

“ And now, my obstinate dears, about your visit to 
our Valdimir,” began the baron. “ As I explained 
before, it is now too late to catch any train by which 
we could reach Yockley before six o’clock this even- 
ing— the hour at which the prison doors are closed for 
the night. And in order that we may start early 
enough to-morrow, to get home again the same day. 


254 


BRANDON OOTLE's WIFE. 


you will have to be up and get your breakfast by five 
o’ctock. Do you hear that^ young ladies ? You will 
never do it unless I am on hand to ring the alarm-bell 
in the morning. I will wake up the butler, who will 
wake up the page, who will wake up the ladies’ maids, 
who will wake up their ladies — and so on and so on — 
like the people in ‘ The House that Jack built^' or in the 
story of The Little Old Woman and her Figd ” 

“ You know that we will be very glad to have you, 
Baron,” said Lady Arielle. 

“ And now, my dears, if I have not time to return to 
Cloudland, I have enough to run down and see my old 
neighbor Coyle — poor old fellow ! how I feel for him ! 
But he has turned off his scamp of a nephew, that is 
one comfort. I know Brandon is not there ; but I may 
hear something that will give me a clew. Plague take 
it. I feel deucedly like a spy, going on such an errand 
to an old neighbor’s house ; but I cannot help it ! 

‘ Blood is thicker than water,’ and I must do the best I 
can for my kinsman, who is suffering now for his 
nephew’s crimes !” said the baron, as he rang the bell. 

“ Will you not take lunch first ?” inquired Arielle. 

“ No, my dear — don’t want any I I will be back to 
dine with you, and will bring a splendid appetite with 
me,” replied the baron. 

Adams entered in answer to the bell. 

“ You will lend me a saddle-horse, Arielle ?” 

“Certainly, Lord Beaudevere. You need scarcely 
have asked the question. You know the horses. Pray 
give your own orders,” replied the young lady. 

“ Adams, tell one of the grooms to saddle Muff for 
me, and some other steady horse for himself, and bring 
them around to the door,” said the baron. 

His orders were promptly complied with, and the 
groom and horses were announced as waiting. 


THE TEST OF LOVE. 


255 


“ I shall return in time for your dinner, my dear," 
said the baron to Lady Arielle as he took leave of the 
young party and left the room. 

In ten more minutes he was mounted on horseback 
and going on at a brisk, steady trot towards Caveland. 

In little more than an hour’s time, by taking all the 
narrow bridle paths through the short cuts, he reached 
his destination, and drew up before the dark, old man- 
sion house. 

He alighted, threw his reins to the groom, and hur- 
ried up the steps to the principal entrance, which was 
in one of the towers. 

A porter opened to him. 

“ Is Mr. Coyle at home ?" he inquired. 

“ Yes, my lord. — Here, Tomkins ! Show his lordship 
into the library," replied the porter, who belonged to a 
household that never had stood upon ceremony with 
their neighbors, and who, therefore, neither asked for 
nor expected a card. 

The footman bowed, and walking down the hall, 
opened a side door and announced : 

“ His lordship, Baron Beaudevere." 

The baron entered the library, and the footman closed 
the door upon him and retired. 

Lord Beaudevere found old Mr. Coyle, wrapped in a 
blue cloth dressing-gown, wearing a black velvet skull- 
cap, seated in his leathern arm-chair and bending over 
his writing-table, which seemed laden with papers, 
documents, and account books. 

He arose to meet his visitor, took off his skull-cap 
with his left hand, and bowed as he held out his right. 

Pray replace your cap, neighbor. I hope I find you 
quite well," said Lord Beaudevere, though with little 
confidence, as he noticed how thin, worn and aged the 
once rotund and rubicund old gentleman looked. 


256 


BRANDON OOYLe’s WIFE. 


“ I am not well, my lord — shall never be well again, 
probably — do not wish to get well, in point of fact. 
But never mind me. Take this easy-chair, if you 
please, my lord,” he said, drawing forward a large, well- 
cushioned “ sleepy-hollow.” 

“ Do not say that, my dear old friend ! Many would 
deeply regret your departure from among us,” said the 
baron, as he sank down into the luxurious depths of the 
offered seat. 

‘‘ Why should I wish to live — why should I wish to 
live — or why should any friend desire me to live, when 
my gray hairs are dishonored, my heart broken, and my 
spirit bowed by the misconduct of my nephew — my 
nephew, whom I brought up even as a son, and meant 
to have made my heir ?" bitterly exclaimed the old man. 

The baron would willingly have demanded, “ Where 
is that nephew now ?” but his conscience would not 
allow him to ask the question he was burning, for his 
own kinsman’s sake, to have answered, yet which he 
thought would be treacherous, under the circumstances. 
So he said nothing, while his looks expressed the sym- 
pathy he felt for the afflicted old gentleman. 

“ Oh, my lord, I do not hesitate to speak to you freely. 
You are the oldest living friend I have in the world, 
and you know already of that unfortunate boy’s evil 
doings ! You will know still more, as all the world 
must know more in a very few days or hours,” con- 
tinued old Mr. Coyle, with a deep sigh. 

Lord Beaudevere had started and then given deep 
attention to the last few words of the stricken old man. 
He would “know still more, as all the world would 
know still more, in a few days or hours ?” What might 
this mean but that Brandon Coyle’s last worst crime 
had been traced in some providential way to him and he 
was known as the assassin of Kit Ken ? 


THE TEST OF LOVE. 


257 


To this conclusion the baron arrived at once, and 
then he spoke : 

“ I am truly sorry that you should suffer so severely 
for the fault of one whom you have nourished in your 
house,” he said, in sympathetic tones. 

“And this last dishonor,” continued the old man — 
“this last dishonor! You will know it all through 
to-morrow's papers !” sighed Mr. Coyle. 

“ How came this to your knowledge ?” the baron felt 
justified in asking, for he was thinking only about the 
murder in the railway carriage. 

“ Through my bankers, of course !” answered the old 
man, raising his eyes in some astonishment to the face 
of the questioner. 

“ Through your bankers, my dear sir ? I — I don't 
quite understand,” said the baron. 

“ Ah, — ah, yes ! I was talking as if you knew some- 
thing of the matter, whereas as yet you know nothing ; 
but my head is sadly shaken by this trouble. Yes, my 
lord, it was through my bankers ! You must know that 
towards the last days in December I always draw out 
of my bank account enough and more than enough cash 
to meet all demands upon me for the remainder of the 
year, and at the same time I send for my bank-book 
and cancelled checks that I may see to my balance. I 
did this a few days ago, and to my utter amazement I 
found among my checks one for five thousand pounds^ 
dated the fifteenth of December. It was apparently 
filled out by my own handwriting, and signed by my 
own autograph. I could almost have sworn to it all as 
my own work ! Yet I knew it was a foul forgery ! I 
had not drawn a check for five thousand pounds for 
many years. My checks seldom run over a hundred at 
a time.” 

“ And this was a forgery, you say ?” inquired the 


258 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


baron, wondering how this could be connected with the 
murder of poor Kit Ken, yet persuaded that it was. 

“Yes, sir, a rank, rank forgery ! I inclosed it in a 
letter to the bankers, telling them that it was a forgery, 
and demanding to know who had presented it to be 
cashed. Ah, my lord ! little did I suspect who was the 
guilty party, though indeed I might easily have done 
so ; and if I had, I should never have written to the 
bankers, never have made a sign, or given a hint, that 
it was a forgery, but should have let it go with the rest ! 
Ah ! if we could but know some of the results of our 
actions beforehand ! Well, my lord, the bankers did 
not wait to answer my letter ; they telegraphed to me 
that the man who presented my check for five thousand 
pounds, on the fifteenth of December, was Mr. Brandon 
Coyle.” 

“ It must have been a great shock to you. I am very 
sorry,” said Lord Beaudevere, earnestly ; for for the 
first time it struck him that the murder was committed 
on the fifteenth of December, and if Mr. Brandon Coyle 
was uttering forgeries in London, he could not at the 
same date be committing murder in the North of Eng- 
land, and that young Coyle might be able to prove an 
alibi more easily than could Valdimir Desparde. The 
thought was not an encouraging one, and Lord Beaude- 
vere sighed deeply. 

Poor old Mr. Coyle took it as a sigh of deepest sym- 
pathy for him, and he continued : 

“ Yes, sir, it was a great shock ! a very great shock ! 
As soon, however, as I could recovar from it far enough 
to collect and use my faculties, I only thought of the 
family credit, and I telegraphed the bank to take no 
proceedings against the presenter of that check, but let 
it stand to my account. I was willing to acknowledge 
it and pay it.” 


THE TEST OF LOVE. 


259 


“ And did the bankers consent to this ?” slowly in- 
quired the baron. 

No, sir ! No, sir ! They telegraphed back to me 
that they would not let it stand to my account ; that 
they would lose it ; that they would rather lose ten 
times the amount than compound a felony and allow a 
forger to escape ; that the financial and commerciM 
safety of the commonwealth depended on the strictness 
and severity with which justice should be meted out to 
the forger — and ever so much of the same sort of bank- 
er’s slang. Yes, sir, they are resolved to prosecute my 
nephew. All that I have told you they telegraphed to 
me — by the yard ! but they also wrote a letter, which I 
have just received, and in which they have gone some- 
what in detail — ” 

“ Ah, they gave you further particulars as to the hour, 
uerhaps !” exclaimed the baron, much interested. 

“ Oh, yes, they told me that he — my nephew, Bran- 
don — presented himself to the paying teller’s window 
as soon as the bank doors were open — ” 

“ Oh ! as early as ten o’clock, then, I suppose,” inter- 
rupted the baron, with a feeling of great relief : for if 
Brandon Coyle uttered his forged check at ten o’clock 
A. M. in London, he would have ample time to reach the 
Grand Junction or any other North of England station 
to do any deed of evil there before midnight. 

“ Oh, yes, it was about that hour the bank opened, I 
presume. Well, they wrote that he appeared to be in a 
great hurry, and told them that I had sent him down 
for the money for safety and dispatch, as I was about 
to purchase that portion of Squire Honeythorn’s estate 
which joins my own land — a very plausible story, espe- 
cially as I had expressed a wish to buy that same 
property, and also as I always sent my nephew, when I 
could not go myself, to cash a check for a large sum. 


260 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


They further warned me that they had procured a war- 
rant for the arrest of the forger, and sent officers with 
it in search of him, expressing much regret that a sense 
of duty should compel them to this course.” 

“ I am very sorry to hear that you have this trouble, 
Mr. Coyle,” said the baron. 

“ It is hard,” replied the old man. “ I abjured matri- 
mony myself ! But my brother had to marry and give 
me a niece, and that niece had to dishonor the family 
by the lowest marriage she could have fallen into, and 
bestowed upon me this grand-nephew with his inherited 
vileness. Yes, it is hard !” 

“ It is a pity that in adopting him you should have 
given him your own name,” observed Lord Beau- 
devere. 

“ It is a thousand pities ! But do you suppose I 
would have done it if I could have foreseen this result ? 
I did hope by good training to bring the lad up to be 
an honest and honorable man ! But there ! All the 
cultivation in the world will not turn a poisonous weed 
into a wholesome vegetable ! Men never have been 
able to gather ‘figs of thorns’ yet,” concluded the 
squire. 

“ I hope your niece. Miss Coyle, has not yet heard of 
this trouble,” said the baron. 

“ No, no, I have not told her. I shall keep it from 
the poor girl as long as I can, for she is devoted to her 
brother with that strong love that binds twins, you 
know. Why she is scarcely on speaking terms with me 
since I turned the scamp off !” 

“ I regret to hear it,” said the baron. 

“ But my dear lord,” said the old squire, with some 
change of tone and look, “ while I am so absorbed in 
my own woes, I have not altogether forgotten yours ! 
Ah ! our young people are giving us a great deal of 


THE TEST OF LOVE. 


261 


trouble in our old days ! I have seen the newpaper 
accounts of that tragedy in the railway carriage.” 

“ You never for an instant believed that my kinsman 
was guilty ?” tartly inquired Lord Beaudevere. 

“ I did not know what to believe. After discovering 
my own nephew, in whom I had had so much confidence, 
to be such an unscrupulous villain, my faith was 
shaken in Valdimir, especially when I remembered his 
extraordinary and unexplained flight from the country 
on his wedding-day last spring,” said the old squire, 
deprecatingly. 

Lord Beaudevere could have explained that extra- 
ordinary flight, not very much to the credit of the 
squire’s nephew ; but not for the world would he have 
added that weight to the burden of the worthy old 
man’s troubles. He thought also that Mr. Coyle, 
remembering the relations that had existed between 
his evil nephew and the poor victim of the railway 
tragedy, might have reasonably suspected Mr. Brandon 
Coyle of having had a hand in the death of Kit Ken. 
But he forebore also to express this thought. 

“ I do not see that there was much evidence against 
him. Any man might have been caught in such a trap 
by getting into a railway compartnlent where there was 
no other passenger but the body of a murdered woman 
cunningly arranged to look like a sleeping one. Yes, 
any man might. / might, or you might. No, I do not 
think there was evidence enough to commit him. But 
as there was no one else to lay hold of, I suppose the 
magistrates felt bound to commit somebody ; so they 
committed him. Of course, you have engaged good 
counsel for his defense asked the squire. 

“ The very best that could be obtained — Mr. Stair 
and Mr. Turner,” replied Lord Beaudevere. 

‘‘ Ah ! indeed, strong heads, both of them. Why, 


262 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


either of them would be acute enough to secure an 
acquittal, even if his client were ever so guilty, and 
every one of the jury knew it for a fact ! You may 
safely trust your kinsman’s case to them. Why, they ’d 
talk the judges out of their senses and the jury into a 
state of idiotic complacency in no time at all !” 

“ We do not want that sort of thing. We want clear- 
headed, intelligent justice, in an honorable acquittal,” 
said the baron. 

“ Well, and you will be sure to get it. Ah ! I wish 
there were the smallest chance of an acquittal for my 
scamp of a nephew. But my only hope for him is in 
his flight. I do really suppose he has secured that, by 
putting the sea between himself and the English law. 
It must be so, for neither I nor his sister have heard 
from him since the night of his — his — his exposure at 
Castle Montjoie,” concluded the old squire. 

Lord Beaudevere had now gathered all the news that 
he could get — not very satisfactory on the whole — and 
so arose to take leave. 

“ I thank you for this visit, my lord. It has really 
done me good,” said the poor old squire, cordially, ris- 
ing and taking the offered hand of liis departing visitor. 

“ I am glad it has been so, and if I can in any man- 
ner be of use to you in your trouble, my dear old 
friend, pray command me,” replied the baron, feeling 
very much like a hypocrite and a traitor when he remem- 
bered the motive of that visit for which the stricken 
old man had thanked him so warmly. 

“ You are very kind, and I am truly grateful. But I 
doubt if you or any one under heaven can help me. 
The best news that could come to me would be that 
Brandon Coyle had been lost at sea !” sighed the poor 
squire, as he shook and pressed the hand of his old 
neighbor. 



CHAPTER XXVL 

A VISIT TO VALDIMIR. 

Love’s heralds should be thoughts 

Which ten times faster glide than the sunbeams. 

Driving back shadows over lowering hills. 

Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love, 

And therefore hath the wind swift Cupid wings. 

Shakespeare. 

With thee all scenes are sweet ; each place hath charms — 
Earth, sea, alike our world within our arms. 

Byron. 

' Lord Beaudevere kept his appointment, and reached 
Castle Montjoie in time to dress for dinner ; but only in 
time, for he had to go at once to his chamber, make a 

■ hasty toilet, and descend to the drawing-room, where 
k he found the three young ladies waiting for him. 

In answer to their eager questions, he told them that 

■ old Mr. Coyle knew nothing of Brandon’s whereabouts, 
r and that therefore he had been disappointed in his hope 
• of obtaining a clew to the fugitive. 

He forebore to tell them the news of Brandon Coyle’s 
heavy forgery. His sympathies for the poor old squire 

[263] 


t 


264 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


kept him silent upon this subject of the family dis- 
honor. 

Dinner was at once announced, and they all went into 
the dining-room. 

Lord Beaudevere had gained a fine appetite from his 
long ride in the crisp, cold air, and moreover he highly 
approved the young countess’s cook ; therefore, notwith- 
standing other adverse circumstances, he greatly en- 
joyed his dinner. 

The two children were brought in at dessert, and had 
their treat of nuts, fruit and cake ; after which they 
were remanded to their nursery, and the three young 
ladies withdrew to the drawing-room, leaving Lord 
Beaudevere at the table. 

The baron, however, never sat long over his wine. 
He soon joined them. 

Then, instead of their usual evening recreation of 
music, chess or backgammon, they gathered around the 
fire and talked only of their beloved prisoner. 

They were interrupted at length by the postman’s 
knock, which the hall footman answered. 

They listened eagerly, and soon Adams came into the 
room with only one letter on his silver waiter. 

“ For Mrs. Adrian Fleming, my lady,” he answered 
to the inquiring look of the countess, as he took the 
waiter across the room to Net. 

“ It is from Deloraine, Devon, but in a strange hand- 
writing. I fear — I fear — that Antoinette is worse,” she 
exclaimed, as she gazed at the letter, and then hastily 
opened it. 

“ Who is it from ?” impatiently inquired Vivienne. 

“ Her attendant physician — Dr. Bede,” slowly and 
sadly answered Net, who was anxiously reading the few 
lines written on one page of note-paper. 

“ How is she ?” inquired Lady Arielle, eagerly. 


A VISIT TO VALDIMIR. 


265 


“ Antoinette is worse — much worse. Her physician 
writes at her request to tell me so, and to ask me to 
come at once without a day's delay, and to bring 
the children if I prefer to do so,” mournfully replied 
Net. 

“ And you will go, of course,” said Vivienne. 

“ Oh ! I must ! I must ! I must go by the very first 
train ! Dear Lord Beaudevere, is there any train that 
I can catch to-night ?” she anxiously inquired, turning 
to the baron. 

“ My good young lady, certainly not. There is a 
train in the morning at eight-thirty. The time has 
been changed within a few days. We can catch that 
by getting up to-morrow morning at five o’clock. It is 
the same train by which we go.” 

“ Then we can travel together,” said Net. 

“Yes, as far as the Miston Junction, but no farther. 
There we separate.” 

“ You go North, we go South,” put in Net. 

“ Exactly.” 

“ And now,” said wise Little Mammam, “ as we have 
to rise so earlyjn the morning, will you let me suggest 
that we retire immediately ?” 

“ We will, and we will follow the suggestion,” said 
Arielle. 

And each of the party took a light, and they bade 
one another good-night and retired. 

Punctually at five o’clock the next morning the 
baron was awakened from his slumbers by the rap of 
Adams. 

In half an hour afterwards the travelers had dressed, 
breakfasted, and were ready k) commence their jour- 
ney. 

The vehicle just held the party — Net filling the fourth 
seat. 


266 


BRANDON COYLE V WIFE. 


The regular coach-horses were not taken out for this 
long drive ; but the strongest pair of draught horses 
were harnessed to the carriage, and the careful old 
coachman, Abraham, was on the box. 

It was but a few minutes after five when they drove 
off in the darkness of the winter morning. 

The carriage-lamps had been trimmed and lighted, 
and the coachman knew his road and his horses, so 
that the journey seemed a safe one, notwithstanding 
the hour. 

The conversation during the long drive turned 
exclusively upon the prisoner at Yockley and the 
invalid at Deloraine Park. 

“ What is the malady of Miss Deloraine ?” inquired 
the baron of Net. 

“ I think they call it atrophy of the heart. It is 
hereditary in her mother’s family,” replied Net, as they 
drove on through the darkness. 

They drove on as fast a^ the strong draught horses 
could draw them. 

They came in sight of the spires of Miston Old Church 
just as the first faint light o'f morning was seen on the 
Eastern horizon, and they reached Miston Station as the 
first beams of the rising sun appeared above the hill- 
tops. 

They had ten minutes to spare, and these were spent 
in giving directions to old Abraham to put up the car- 
riage and horses at the Dolphin for the day, and to meet 
them at the station for the seven p. m. train. 

Then the bare put the three young ladies in the cen- 
tral compartment of a first-class carriage and went into 
a smoking-car to enjoy his matutinal cigar. 

In five more minutes the train was off. 

The three girls, after a little more conversation among 
themselves, went off to sleep, as was very natural 


A VISIT TO VALDIMIR. 


267 


after having been disturbed in the morning’s nap and 
fatigued by a long and rough drive. 

They slept with little disturbance until the train 
reached Miston Junction, where they were awakened by 
the bustle of arrival. 

Here the friends were to part company — Net to go 
down to Devonshire, and the others to go up to Yock- 
ley. 

Lord Beaudevere threw away the stump of his cigar, 
got out of the smoking-carriage and came to the door 
of the ladies’ compartment to get them off. 

“ Your train is ready, my dear. It starts full fifteen 
minutes before ours. I shall have plenty of time to get 
you a seat in the ladies’ carriage and commend you to 
the care of the guard. But you must hurry. Come 
on.” 

By this time the baron had led the way to the waiting- 
room, where Net hastily kissed her two girl friends 
good-bye and followe^ Lord Beaudevere to the next 
train, where he got foTOer% safe and comfortable seat 
in a carriage full of ladies, and where he put a half sov- 
ereign into the hand> T the guard as an inducement to 
look after the safety ami comfort of the young traveler. 

Then he shook hands with Net, telling her to write 
or telegraph in case sh*e^ should want service of any sort 
from him. 

The train began to show signs of moving, so he left 
the carriage and returned to his own party in the wait- 
ing-room. 

As soon as their own train was ready he put the two 
young ladies in a reserved compartment, and not wish- 
ing to smoke another cigar, he joined them there. 

This happened to be an express train, and the run to 
Yockley was a rapid one. 

They reached the station at about eleven o’clock. 


268 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


Lord Beaudevere engaged a fly, put his young com- 
panions in it, followed them and ordered the driver to 
go to Yockley prison. 

The man was the same one whom his lordship had 
several times already engaged, and he touched his hat 
respectfully as he mounted his box and drove off. 

“ I must warn you, my dear, not to be shocked too 
severely by the appearance of the prison. It is not like 
a private house, nor even like any other public build- 
■ ing.” 

“ Oh, my dear Lord Beaudevere, I have seen the out- 
side of several prisons, and I can judge from that the 
inside is not very attractive,” replied Arielle with a sad 
smile. 

Yet half an hour later, when they reached the high 
stone walls and rolled through the great iron gate of 
the prison-yard, and saw the grim stone face, with its 
small, grated windows, of the prison house, Arielle lost 
all her courage and burst into a storm of tears. 

Lord Beaudevere stopped the carriage to give her 
an opportunity of conquering her emotion and recover- 
ing her self-command. 

Then they drove on to the doors of the prison and 
got out. 

Arielle shuddered at the great, oaken, iron-bound 
doors, and the heavy lock chains, the bare stone walls, 
the bare flagged floors. 

The baron stopped at the door of the warden’s office 
to get the service of a turnkey, and then drew Arielle’s 
arm within his own and led her up the stone steps. 

Vivienne followed, with her vail drawn down over 
her face to conceal its irrepressible emotion. 

Vivienne suffered equally with Arielle, but even her 
own Beaue forgot the sister’s sorrow in the betrothed 
bride’s bitter grief. 


A VISIT TO YALDIMIR. 


269 


The baron whispered a word to the turnkey, who 
started off at once and opened the cell-door and left it 
open before they came up. 

Lord Beaudevere’s money and care had converted 
the cold, bare prison-cell into a palatial cabinet or 
closet. 

It was into this place that the two young ladies were 
introduced. 

Valdimir Desparde, in a carefully made morning 
toilet, was seated in the easy-chair, leaning over his 
little writing-table. 

He turned his head on hearing approaching foot- 
steps, and seeing Lord Beaudevere leading in Arielle 
Montjoie, the light of a sudden rapture irradiated his 
face, and he sprang up to meet them. 

He held out both hands and clasped hers warmly, 
while he gazed into her eyes in anxious, questioning 
love. What he read there gave him courage to draw her 
to his bosom, and press his lips upon her brow. And 
hardly a syllable passed between them but the inevit- 
able low-breathed words : 

“ Ohy Arielle !'* 

“ Oh, Valdimir I'* 

. “ Speak to Vivienne ! Speak to your sister ! She is 
behind !” whispered the young girl, gently disengaging 
herself from her lover’s embrace. 

He turned to see his sister, and met her as warmly 
as he had met his betrothed bride. 

And lastly he shook hands with his kinsman, and 
thanked him for bringing these dear ones to comfort 
him. 

Then the two young ladies sat down on the sofa with 
Valdimir between them. 

Lord Beaudevere occupied the seat of honor, the 
crimson damask, deeply-cushioned easy-chair. 


S70 BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 

And then they talked freely of Valdimir’s case and 
prospects, which the young man considered safe, not- 
withstanding that detectives had found no trace of 
Brandon Coyle, nor any passenger who remembered 
coming up by the London and Southwestern train with 
any gentleman answering to Valdimir Desparde’s des- 
cription. 

“ Nevertheless I am not a whit discouraged. And 
indeed, though my detention here is disagreeable 
enough and the occasion tragic enough, yet I cannot help 
seeing a ludicrous side to this farce of falling into the 
trap of that railway carriage and being arrested for 
midnight murder. Me ! whom it always hurt to have 
to kill a gnat !” said Valdimir, in a gay tone that was 
perhaps partly assumed to raise the depressed spirits 
of his visitors. 

“ The police are looking after Brandon Coyle on 
another count !’' said Lord Beaudevere, impulsively ; 
and he immediately regretted that he had done so. 

“ Indeed ! But I do not wonder ! On what other 
count?” inquired Valdimir. 

“ I will tell you another time, my boy. It is near 
your luncheon hour, is it not ?” inquired Lord Beau- 
devere — “we will invite ourselves to lunch with you ! 
I will go to the White Bear myself to cater for our 
luncheon !” said the baron, as he took his hat and 
walked out of the cell. 

“ My cousin told you all about my reason for leaving 
the country in the way I did, dearest ?” asked Valdimir 
of his betrothed. 

“ Oh, yes, everything he thought I ought to know, 
and quite enough to vindicate you perfectly, Valdimir. 
But, oh, love, why should you have punished yourself, 
and me, and all your friends, for the sin of another ? 
Even if the base story had been true it would not have 


A VISIT TO YALDIMIR. 


271 


been your fault ! ^ I should never have thought the less 
of you, Valdimir !” pleaded Arielle with a look and 
tone that assured him she knew not the depth of dis- 
honor that would have fallen on his own guiltless head 
had that dreadful story been true — for him. 

Very soon Lord Beaudevere returned, followed by 
two waiters from the White Bear.^ bringing every requis- 
ite for a most substantial and delicious lunch. 

After this lunch, which was really enjoyed by all the 
party notwithstanding the grave surrounding circum- 
stances, the waiters cleared the table and carried away 
all the debris and other articles, and the place was re- 
stored to tidiness. 

After a little more conversation the baron told his 
young protegees that they must put on their coats and 
hats and be ready to go, for they had stayed to the last 
minute of their time. 

The parting with the prisoner was a sad one, not- 
withstanding that he bore himself with the greatest 
cheerfulness, and that Lord Beaudevere promised to 
return every day to see him, and fetch and carry mes- 
sages between Yockley and Montjoie. 

After taking leave of Valdimir Desparde the party 
re-entered their carriage, that still waited at the prison 
gate, and drove fast to the station, where they just 
caught the train. 

Much rested and comforted, the party entered upon 
their eight hours* drive to Castle Montjoie, where they 
arrived in safety about half-past ten o’clock. 

“ All right here, Adams ?” the baron inquired of the 
footman who opened the door to them. 

“ Oh, yes, my lord. All quite right, your lordship.” 

“ Any letters by the night’s mail ?” 

” Only one, my lord, and that was for Mrs. Fleming.” 

Let me look at it. Unless it comes from Devon- 


272 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


shire, where she has gone, it must be forwarded to 
her.” 

The footman handed this letter on his silver salver. 
Lord Beaudevere took it and examined it carefully. 

“ It is post-marked London, and directed to Mrs. 
Fleming’s home in Church Lane. It has been sent on 
here. Come into the library a moment, Adams. I will 
put this letter in another envelope, and direct it, and 
do you put it in the carrier’s box to-night. It may be 
important,” said the baron. 

And it was important, for it was that very letter 
which poor Kit Ken had cunningly written to Mrs. 
Fleming and left with her landlady to be forwarded 
after ten days, unless good news arrived of her. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

ANTOINETTE. 

She hath had her happy day — 

She hath had her bud and blossom ; 

Now she pales and shrinks away. 

Death, into thy gentle bosom ! 

She hath done her bidding here ; 

Angels dear, 

Bear her loving soul above, 

Seraph of the skies — dear love ! 

Barry Cornwall. 

Net had never been on a long journey in her short 
life ; and her present one was very long, from the 
extreme north of England to the extreme south, and it 
began in an obscure rural neighborhood and would 
terminate at a secluded hamlet and manor-house, it 
involved several changes of trains. 


ANTOINETTE. 


273 


There was but one cab on the station waiting for the 
doubtful chance of a fare. Net hired it. 

Net got in and seated herself, and was soon rolling 
along an unfrequented road. 

In an hour they reached the village of Deloraine. 

Passing out of the village, half an hour’s drive 
brought them to the great park gate — a strong portal 
of iron, guarded by a gothic lodge. 

Here the cabman drew up, alighted and rang a bell. 

A bare-headed, red-armed girl, with her sleeves rolled 
up, ran out of the lodge and swung open the wide doors 
of the gateway, closing the gates with a clang when the 
cab had passed, and then flying into the lodge and bang- 
ing the door after her. 

The cab finally reached the grand, old-style manor- 
house of dark-colored brick. 

The cabman got down from his seat, ran up the stairs 
and rang the bell, and then ran down again and 
opened the door for the young lady to alight. 

Net paid him five shillings for her fare, and one over 
for his moderation, before she left the cab. Then she 
got out and went up the steps, followed by the cabman 
carrying her valise. 

The house-door was already opened by a venerable 
old servant, whose gray hair needed no powder and 
whose grave and well-preserved livery expressed the 
good taste of his late masters. 

“ I hope Miss Deloraine is better this morning,” were 
the first words of Net to this dignified old man. 

“ Much better, madam ! Mrs. Fleming, I hope ?” he 
said, with a low bow. “ I will show you up.” 

The man opened a door on his right, and announced : 

“ Mrs. Fleming.” Then closed the door upon her and 
retired. 

Net found herself in a luxurious boudoir where every 


274 


BRANDON OOYLE’s WIFE. 


sense of seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, was wooed 
to enjoyment. 

In this lovely bower, in a deep, soft resting-chair sat 
Antoinette Deloraine, wrapped in a warm, loose dress- 
ing-gown of pale blue satin, lined and wadded with 
quilled white silk. Her rich black hair was done up 
loosely in a net of white silk and pearl beads. 

She held a handkerchief with some pungent essence 
on it, which now and then she placed to her nose. 

Net took all this in at a glance at the instant she 
crossed the threshold of the room, and she could 
scarcely forbear a start and cry of pity and dismay as 
she gazed on the beautiful wreck before her. Antoi- 
nette had fallen away to mere skin and bone, and the 
white cambric handkerchief she held in her fingers was 
not whiter than her hands and face. 

She arose to meet her visitor, and held out her hand 
with a smile that seemed to break Net’s heart. 

“ My dearest, I hear that you are much better to- 
day ?” said Net, striving with all her might to repress 
her emotions — for she thought : “ If this is ‘ better,’ what 
is worse ?” 

“ Oh, yes, I am, indeed," answered Antoinette, drop- 
ping back in her seat, and smelling at her saturated 
handkerchief ; ‘‘ and I think it was the anticipation of 
your visit that gave me new life. As soon as I got 
Lord Beaudevere’s telegram from the Miston Branch 
Junction yesterday morning, saying that he had just 
put you on the train, and that you would be here to- 
day, I rallied at once, and have been better ever since. 
I thought you would have arrived by the twelve noon 
train, and gave orders for the carriage to meet you. 
Dear girl ! You must have traveled all night to have 
got here so soon." 

Yes, I lost not an hour. I came straight on," said 


ANTOINETTE. 


m 


Net, as she sank down on a cushion at the side of her 
cousin. 

“ Why did not the baron tell me in his telegram that 
you would reach here by the earliest train ?”said Antoi- 
nette, in a vexed tone. ‘‘ I could then have sent the 
carriage for you.” 

“ He did not know it, dear. He had advised me to 
stop over night in London, at his own town house, and 
he gave me a note to his housekeeper. But when I got 
to London I preferred to come down here by the night 
train. Antoinette, dearest, I wished to be with you 
as soon as possible,” said Net, affectionately. 

“ Well, I am glad of the few more hours. Have you 
breakfasted ? Your rooms are all ready. They are 
next to mine. Quite a suite for you and the children. 
Ah ! but you have not brought the children ?” 

“ No, dear ; I thought it was better to leave them at 
Castle Montjoie in the care of Arielle than to bring 
them a long journey in this wintry weather.” 

“Yet I should like to see the little ones ; but I sup- 
pose it was wise to leave them. Here I am talking 
and not thinking of your needs. Net. Have you break- 
fasted ?” 

“Yes, dearest, I have.” 

“ Comfortably ?” 

“Oh, yes ! I ate and drank good food with a good 
appetite — at the Deloraine Arms.” 

“ Oh, yes ! that is a very respectable little country 
inn, supposed to be under the special protection of the 
lords and ladies of the Manor of Deloraine ! Ah, Net ! 
I wonder if any prevising spirit whispered the fat land- 
lady or her pompous headwaiter that it was their future 
lady of the manor they were serving with breakfast ?” 

“ Oh, Antoinette, dearest, do not talk in that way,” 
said Net, in a tone of pain. 


270 


BRANDON OOYLe’s WIFE. 


“ Why not ? You are the heiress presninptive and you 
will soon be the mistress of the manor,” said the young 
girl, with great calmness. 

Oh, no ! Do not say so ! I trust, Antoinette, you 
will yet recover, and live to be a happy wife and mother, 
and leave heirs behind you to enjoy — to inherit Delo- 
raine Park,” said Net, in a faltering and broken voice, 
forcing herself to hope against hope. 

Nou\ Net ! lov you to turn flatterer ! But you mean 
well, my dear. No, Net, / know, and you know, if you 
will look the truth in the face, and be candid with your- 
self and me, that 1 shall never live to do as you say. I 
cannot live a month longer ! I may not live an hour. 
But what of it, pray ? Who am I that I should not go 
in my youth as countless myriads have gone before 
me ? Every tick of that clock is the knell of some pass- 
ing soul. Every hour sees many go — some, a second 
old, who only gasp and go ! And others of all ages 
from that to an hundred years and more ! I have lived 
to be nineteen. I have enjoyed my short life, but I do 
not fear to leave it. While I was in doubt whether I 
should stay or go, then indeed I was uneasy with uncer- 
tainty ; but now that I know my fate, I am quite, quite 
satisfied,” said the dying girl. 

“ Antoinette, dear, are you not talking too much for 
your strength ?” tenderly inquired Net, who noticed, 
with grief, the faintness and occasional failure of her 
cousin’s voice. 

“ No, because I am so much better, just at present ! 
Besides, even if it hurt me, I should talk all the same ! 

I like to talk !” 

For all answer. Net kissed and caressed the hand that ’ 
she still held in her own, as she sat on the cushion at her 
cousin’s side, where she could come nearest in contact 
with her. 


ANTOINETTE. 


277 


“Yes, Net, I am satisfied to go. I have faith enough 
to believe in the infinite wisdom and goodness of God ; 
that He is the absolute Lord of life and death ; that 
whenever He sees fit for a human being to go out of 
this world, that human being — he or she — will go, and 
it will be the very best thing that could happen to him 
or to her. Infinite Love and Wisdom is doing the best 
for us, all the time, whether we believe it or not.” 

At this moment a rosy, middle-aged matron, clothed 
in a soft gray woolen dress, white muslin cap and black 
silk apron, came softly into the room, with a small silver 
waiter in her hand, having on it something covered over 
with a white napkin. 

This was the day-nurse of the heiress of Deloraine 
Park. 

She courtesied to the visitor, and then'went on to the 
side of the young invalid. 

Net pressed the thin hand she had held up to this 
moment, and then released it and arose to make way 
for the nurse. 

“ Miss Deloraine, my dear, you must not talk any 
more this morning. Here is your beef tea and port 
wine. You are to take it, dear, and then try to sleep.” 

“ If I can,” replied the girl, with a wan smile. 

The nurse drew a little, spider-legged stand, of inlaid 
mother-of-pearl, to the side of the invalid’s chair, and 
set the waiter upon it, saying : 

“ Now, dear, try a little of the port. It will give you 
an appetite.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Nolliss. Will you please to touch 
the bell for me 

The matron complied, and a fresh-looking young girl 
in a pretty calico dress, with white apron, and cap 
trimmed with blue ribbons, entered the room, courte- 
sied, and said : 


278 


BRANDON Coyle’s wipe. 


“ If you please, ma’am, Mrs. Trimmer have gone to 
the village on your message, which she left word I was 
to — to take the liberty to answer her bell, which I am 
sure 1 beg your pardon for making so bold, ma’am ” — 
with another courtesy. 

Antoinette smiled, and murmured to Net : 

She comes from the estate, and is as verdant as its 
own herbage in spring-time ; but she is good, and she 
is your maid.” 

Then turning to the girl, she said : 

‘‘Quite right, Cally. It was you I wanted, not Trim- 
mer. This lady is the mistress you are to serve.” 

The girl turned and dropped a courtesy to Mrs. Flem- 
ing. 

“ Now, show your mistress to her room, and wait her 
orders there. Net, dear,” the young lady continued, 
turning to her guest, “ 1 hope you will make yourself at 
home ; order everything you require, and be as com- 
fortable as if I were up and about and able to see to 
you myself.” 

Net stooped and kissed her cousin, and then hurried 
from the room, and was conducted by the little maid to 
the apartments prepared for her, and consisting of sit- 
ting-room, bed-chamber, and dressing closet en suite^ and 
all upholstered in blue. 

Net had no sooner reached the first of these than she 
turned to the little maid and said : 

“ You may go now. I do not need anything at pres- 
ent. When I do I will call you.” 

The girl courtesied and withdrew. 

Net locked the door, threw off her hat and shawl, and 
cast herself headlong down upon the sofa, and gave 
vent to the storm of tears and sobs whose repression 
had nearly suffocated her. 

She wept and sobbed long and hard before the par- 


ANTOINETTE. 


279 


oxysm of passionate grief had exhausted itself. And 
after that she still lay upon the sofa, panting and gasp- 
ing in the subsidence of the tempest. 

There was one drop of comfort in her grief for An- 
toinette. It was in the recollection of her own firmness 
in resisting all the arguments and persuasion of her 
step-father and his lawyers, that might have led to the 
assertion and establishment of her own claim to Delo- 
raine Park at the expense of her innocent cousin — An- 
toinette's disinheritance and disgrace. 

Ah ! what a consolation it was to her at this hour to 
reflect that by her own forbearance Antoinette had lived, 
and would die, the undisputed inheritrix of her father's 
illustrious old name and her father's grand old manor ! 

After more than an hour Net arose and went into 
her dressing-closet to wash and bathe her face, and to 
change her dress for the lunch or dinner, whichever 
might be the rule of the family in the middle of the 
day. 

When she had done all this, and stood up in her neat 
black silk dress, trimmed with black crape, and with 
throat and wrist ruffles of white crepe lisse, and put a 
white rose in her dark hair, luncheon was announced. 

Net dispatched her dainty luncheon with very little 
appetite, and was just rising from the table, when she 
was accosted by the nurse, who stood within the open 
door and said : 

“ She insists on seeing you, Mrs. Fleming. I begged 
her to rest, but she will not, and opposition excites her 
and hurts her more than even giving her her own way 
and letting her talk could. We have a hard time with 
our patient, me and the doctor do." 

I will go to my cousin at once, and I will not let 
her excite herself by too much conversation," said Net, 
passing out into the hall. 


280 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 

“ Oh, won’t you, ma’am ?” inquired the nurse, with an 
incredulous smile, as she led the way. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Antoinette’s reparation. 

Lo ! the pale lips unclose ! 

List ! list ! what sounds are those, 

Plaintive and low ? 

Art thou mine enemy ? 

Stoop down and look at me 
Ere hence I go ! 

Art thou my foeman, now.^ 

Look on my pallid brow, 

Whose seal is set ! 

Pardoning, / pass away ; 

Wage thou no war with clay — 

Pardon ! forget ! 

Caroline B. Southey. 

“ Here is Mrs. Fleming, my dear ! Now doho, good 
to yourself and get — keep quiet as you can !” said Mrs, 
Nolliss, opening the door of the boudoir to admit Net, 
and then retiring and closing it upon her. 

“Dear Net, I hope you have had a good nap and a 
good rest since I saw you last,” said Antoinette, from 
her invalid chair, where she sat just as Net had left 
her. 

“ I have not been asleep, dear. I never could sleep 
in the daytime ; but I shall make up for my failure to- 
night,” said Net, cheerfully. 

“ Sit down here, love — no ! not on that cushion at my 


Antoinette’s reparation. 


281 


feet ! I won’t have it so !” exclaimed Antoinette, see- 
ing that her cousin was about to resume that humble 
position she had occupied on her first arrival. 

“ But I prefer this low seat — not in mock humility, 
but in affection and for comfort and convenience,” 
smiled Net. “ I can sit here and bask in the direct rays 
of the coal fire, and I can nestle close to you, and hold 
your hands and look up into your face ! Do let me 
stay !” 

“ Have your own way, Net. You always managed 
to get it ! And now — tell me the truth of that terrible 
report that has reached me through the newspapers. 
Tell me all about it. This is a good time to do it, for 
Nurse Nolliss says I must not talk much ; but she has 
not forbidden me to listen. Tell me the truth. Net !” 
said Antoinette, settling herself in an easy attitude. 

“You — mean — about — that — ” began Net, slowly and 
tremblingly. 

“ Murder in the railway carriage, of poor Kit Ken ! 
Yes, you know what I mean ! And Valdimir Desparde 
accused of it !” 

“ But, dear Antoinette, is not this subject too exciting 
for you ?” pleaded Net, in alarm for her cousin. 

“ It is very exciting,” confessed the sick girl. 

“ Then had we not better avoid it ?” 

“ Not at all ! for the excitement is within, and the 
only way of quieting it is to quiet my doubts ! Poor 
Kit Ken murdered and Valdimir Desparde accused ! 
I did not even know that he had returned. But he never 
could have been guilty of such a crime ?” 

“ Of course he could not.” 

“ Tell me the whole story.” 

“ I will if you will lie back quietly and restand listen, 
and not attempt to talk more than is absolutely neces- 
sary.” 


282 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


Antoinette smiled and silently complied. 

Net told the whole story from beginning to end. 

Antoinette only interrupted her by occasional ex- 
clamations. 

But when she had quite finished, the sick girl’s tongue 
was loosened again. 

“ What an unscrupulous villain Brandon Coyle must 
have been! I never did like him,” she said. 

“ Nor I,” assented Net. 

“ And he decoyed poor Kit into a false marriage ?” 

“ False, or otherwise, I do not know. If the house 
where the marriage took place was across the border, 
it was a true marriage, though a peasant had performed 
the ceremony ; but if it was on this side it was most 
probably a false marriage,” said Net. 

“ And you, you discovered the culprit in your own 
house and made him promise to own his marriage to 
Kit, under penalty of exposure to the old squire ?” 

“ Yes, and he promised as I told you.” 

“ And at that very time he was engaged to Lady 
Arielle Montjoie T* 

Certainly. And now I have told you quite enough. 
Lie down and rest, dear, for I am going to leave you,” 
said Net, kissing her cousin affectionately. 

After leaving Antoinette, Net repaired to her room. 

She rang for her little maid, and ordered a cup of tea 
and lights to be brought to her bedroom. 

Then she undressed and put on a wrapper, and sat 
down to wait. 

Cally soon appeared with wax lights, tea and dry 
toast on a little waiter. 

Net drank the tea, and then dismissed her maid and 
retired to bed. 

Overpowered by fatigue, sfie soon forgot all cares and 
sorrows in a deep and dreamless sleep. 


Antoinette’s reparation. 


283 


She overslept herself in the morning, for when she 
awoke the sun was so high and bright that it half 
lighted her room even by its narrow gleams between 
the slats of her window shutters and the divisions of 
her blue satin curtains. 

She arose and dressed without the assistance of her 
maid, and went out into the hall. 

There she saw Trimmer, Miss Deloraine’s maid, sit- 
ting before her mistress’s room door. 

“ How is Miss Deloraine this morning ?” inquired 
Net. 

“ Better again, ma’am, and wearying to see you like 
a nursling for its mother,” replied the woman. 

“ You should have called me.” 

“ She would not let us, ma’am. She said you were 
tired with riding day and night, and you must be 
allowed to sleep if you slept all day.” 

“ I will go to her now.” 

“ Nay, ma’am ; she said you were to have your 
breakfast first, and it is quite ready.” 

“ Then I will get it over as soon as possible. Please 
give my love to your mistress, and tell her that I am 
up, and will be with her in ten minutes,” said Net, as 
she hurried down the hall and opened the door on the 
opposite side that led into the little breakfast-room. 

There she found a bright sea-coal fire burning, and a 
neat, little breakfast table. 

There was no one in the room, so she rang the bell. 

The summons was answered by the young footman. 
Hart, who entered with a large silver waiter, on which 
were arranged coffee, cream, muffins, eggs, toast and 
breakfast bacon. 

He placed all these on the table, set his waiter 
against the little sideboard and stood in attendance. 

Net dispatched her breakfast with more regard to 


284 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


haste than health, and then hurried to the room of her 
cousin. 

She found Antoinette prettily dressed in a white vel- 
vet wrapper, lined and faced with quilted blue satin, 
and with her beautiful raven black hair neatly arranged. 

“ The ruling passion strong in death,” thought Net. 

Come and sit by me, my darling Net.” 

Net complied. 

“ Net, dear, before I depart I must make reparation 
for the one great evil I have done in my life,” said 
Antoinette, humbly. 

“You, my gentle dear? You do evil? I cannot 
think it,” said Net, repressing her tears. 

“ Well, you will learn. Net, I wish you had brought 
the children with you !” she suddenly exclaimed. 

“ My love, it was to spare them the exposure and you 
the disturbance that I left them.” 

“ Yes, I know, and you were right ; but it is of the 
children I wish to speak first. It is for their sake I 
must speak of mundane matters, when I would rather 
forget them.” 

“ Do not talk of anything that will trouble you, dear,” 
said Net. 

“ But I must. Now listen. You know Deloraine 
Park has a rent roll of forty thousand pounds a year ?” 

“ No, I did not know.” 

“ Well, it has ; and you are its sole heiress. You will 
be very wealthy, Net.” 

“ Oh, my dear ! Oh, my dear !” moaned Net, in 
irrepressible sorrow. 

“ Are you sighing for me. Net ? Do not so ! lam sat^ 
isfied and happy. I am going to a mansion in my 
Father’s house, compared to which all the architectural 
grandeur and landscape glory of this world are but as 
subterranean caverns and coal pits. Ah ! Net, I over- 


Antoinette’s reparation. 


285 


heard my nurse lamenting because my poor mother 
should have married and brought forth a daughter to 
die in her youth of an inherited disease. But, Net, I 
think it was quite worth while to be born, even to a 
short, fragile life in this world, for the sake of living 
eternally in the world beyond. But to return to the 
children. Deloraine Park will be yours — it is entailed. 
I could not will it away, even if I were of age and 
desired to do so. But, Net, I have other property, in 
my own right, which, if I were of age, I should give 
and bequeath to those orphan children, Luke and Ella 
Starr. But you know I cannot make a will, being a 
minor. I can only express my wishes. You, being my 
nearest of kin. Net, will inherit all my real and personal 
property, entailed or otherwise. Now, Net, you will be 
rich enough, in all conscience, from the revenues of 
Deloraine Park, to be able to dispense with the other 
property, which I wish you to give to the children, 
share and share alike, if you can do so, for I am not sure 
that you can.” 

“ I will carry out all your kind and loving wishes to 
the very best of my ability,” answered Net. 

“ And now, dear girl, I must speak to you of yet 
another subject — a painful one, I fear, to you. Will 
you pardon me if I mention it 

Talk of anything you please, dear Antoinette.” 

“ Well, then — of Adrian Fleming. Do you ever hear 
from him ?” 

“ Never,” answered Net, growing pale. 

“ Nor ofhxm ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Do you ever hear from Sir Adrian ?” 

“ No.” 

“ How strange ! And Adrian used to love you.” 

“ He used to think he did,” sighed Net. 


286 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


“ And the baronet had a great esteem and affection 
for you.” 

“ He seemed to have, but he would not receive me 
at Fleming Chase unless I would consent to part with 
the babies and send them to an orphan asylum.” 

“ Ah, yes, I remember ! You decided not to do so.” 

“ Yes.” 

‘‘ And that ended all communication between you and 
the family at Fleming Chase ?” 

‘‘Yes, as a matter of course.” 

“ And where has Adrian been all this time.” 

“ Traveling, as I understand.” 

“ And what do the people of Miston say to this state 
of affairs between a newly-married couple ?” 

“ I do not quite know. I think they have the impres- 
sion that we were married on the eve of Mr. Fleming’s 
departure on his foreign travel, merely to bind us irre- 
vocably to each other during his absence, and against 
the time when he should come home and claim his 
wife.” 

“ And I believe they are nearer the truth than you 
think.” 

“ What do you mean, dear Antoinette ?” inquired her 
hearer, in growing agitation. 

“ My darling, I told you some minutes since that I 
had to make reparation for the one great evil I had 
done. Net ! it was for this reason, as well as for the 
love I bear you and the desire I felt to see you that I 
summoned you here.” 

“ Oh, Antoinette, dearest, I — do not know what you 
mean.” 

“ No, of course you have not the remotest idea ! 
Nor will you have even when I tell you that I have 
called another person to my death-bed.” 

“ Whom ? Whom ?” breathed Net, in an almost 


Antoinette’s keparation. 287 

expiring voice, for her prophetic soul divined the 
truth. 

“ Adrian Fleming.” 

Adrian Fleming ! Is he in England ?” 

** Yes, I wrote to his father, the baronet, inquiring for 
his address, for I wished to write to him. The baronet 
answered that he was then at Fleming Chase. I received 
this answer at the same hour that I received the tele- 
gram announcing your visit, Net. And then I took a 
resolution. I wrote to Adrian Fleming, told him my 
condition, and begged him to come at once to see me. 
That was all. This morning. Net, I received a tele- 
gram from him, saying that he would arrive at Delo- 
raine Station by the twelve noon train. The carriage 
has already gone thither to meet him and bring him 
here.” 

“ Oh, Heaven of heavens moaned Net, in a low, shud- 
dering tone, for she dreaded even more than she desired 
to see the husband who had cast her off within a few 
hours after their marriage. 

” Now do not be distressed. Net. The man loves 
you, I know he loves you, and is only too glad of an 
opportunity to see you and make his peace.” 

‘‘ Does he know that I am here ?” breathed Net. 

“ No, I did not tell him in my letter.” 

“ Then I need not see him at all ! I would not force 
myself upon him, Antoinette !” 

My dear, you will have to see him in my presence. 
I have a reparation to make to both, which must be 
made in the presence of both. But you will not there- 
fore force yourself upon him. Nay ! Let him woo again 
the wife he discarded, if he wants her love, which I 
feel sure that he does.” 

At this moment the door opened and the footman 
Hart appeared and announced— 


288 


BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 


“ Mr. Adrian Fleming has arrived, ma’am.” 

“ Show him up to this room,” replied Antoinette. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE MEETING. 

They seemed to those who saw them meet. 

The careless friends of every day; 

Her smile was still serene and sweet. 

His courtesy was free and gay ; 

Yet if by one the other’s name 

In some unguarded hour was heard, 

The heart you deemed so cold and tame 
Would shiver like a captured bird. 

Moncton Milnes. 

Mr. Adrian Fleming,’* was announced, and Mr 
Adrian Fleming entered the boudoir. 

He had thrown off his ulster and cap in the hall, and 
now came in, in his neatly-fitting morning suit of dark- 
gray broadcloth, and looking even handsomer in his 
perfect blonde beauty, more elegant and aristocratic, 
than he had ever seemed before. 

Net had shrunk within the rose colored and lace cur- 
tains of the bay window, beside Antoinette’s luxurious 
lounging-chair. 

Adrian did not see her, therefore, but advanced direct- 
ly to Antoinette, with his small, neatly-gloved hand 
held out, and his fair, radiant face clouding over as he 
perceived the fearful change that had passed upon the 
once beautiful and blooming girl ; — beautiful she was 
now, with a spiritual beauty developed by trial, but no 


THE MEETING. 


289 


longer blooming, no longer attractive to a young man 
like Fleming in the heyday of his own youth and vanity. 

“ I am very sorry to see you looking so ill,” he said, 
with much feeling, but with no tact at all. 

“ Yes, I must give you a little shock, but you will get 
over it in a few seconds,” said Antoinette, calmly. 
Then holding out her hand, she added : “ I am glad to 
see you, Mr. Fleming, and grateful for your quick per- 
sonal response to my letter ; but you will pardon my not 
rising.” 

“ Oh, do not take the least trouble, I beg of you. Miss 
Deloraine : I will find a seat,” he answered, looking 
around, and laying hold of a small silver-gilt and rose- 
satin chair. 

“ But you must find something else, or rather some- 
body else first,” said Antoinette, looking around to see 
what had become of her friend. 

Adrian’s glance naturally followed hers, and fell upon 
the form of Net standing within the rosy curtains of the 
bay window and his fair face flushed up to his fore- 
head. 

“ Net, my dear, will you come and speak to Adrian ?” 
inquired Antoinette. 

Net came out, her pretty face suffused with a soft 
blush, and her voice slightly tremulous with emotion, 
as she greeted her recreant lover and bridegroom with 
the words her own self-respect compelled her to utter. 

“ I did not know that you were expected here, Mr. 
Fleming, until five minutes ago.” 

“ Or you would not have been here yourself, I am to 
infer ?” he answered, in a tone no less agitated than her 
own. 

“ I should not,” she assented. 

“ Come, dear friends, do not quarrel, or if you do- 
why, quarrel with me, not with each other. I am the 


290 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


only one in fault now, and the only one who has been 
in fault from the beginning to the end. Give me my 
elixir, Net,” said Antoinette, faintly. 

Her friend filled a small wine glass with sortie rich 
and spicy cordial from a cut-glass bottle that stood on 
the table, and brought it to the sick girl. 

She drank it, returned the glass, and said : 

“ Thank you, dear ; now resume your seat. Adrian, 
take yours. I have something to tell you both which 
jointly concerns me and yourselves ; therefore I have 
brought you to my presence together I hope you will 
forgive me this also, if you think I have done wrong.” 

Net raised her cousin’s hand and pressed it to her lips 
for all answer. 

“ Pray do not pain yourself or friends by speaking in 
this way, Miss Deloraine,” pleaded Mr. Fleming with 
some emotion. 

“ I called you ‘ Adrian,’ ” said the girl, with a sad 
smile. 

“ Thanks, dear Antoinette,” amended the young man. 

‘‘ Well, I have brought you both to my side to make 
an explanation — ah ! — 'a last dying speech and confession,' 
the poor, condemned felons call it, don’t you know ? 
Can either of you guess the nature of my confession ? 
Ah, I see that you can !” sighed the failing girl, sinking 
back in her chair. 

“ Dear Antoinette, do not overtalk yourself. Indeed 
it is not necessary,” pleaded Net, as she took a flask of 
aromatic ammonia and saturated a fresh handkerehief 
with it and gave it to her friend. 

“ You guess all about it without my telling you ! No 
doubt you guess about my fault, but you cannot guess 
the motives that led to it ! Can you, now ?” inquired 
the girl, as she inhaled the reviving aroma from her 
saturated handkerchief. 


THE MEETING. 


291 


Net shook her head. 

“ What do you say, Adrian ?’^ inquired the sick girl. 

“ Nothing, Antoinette. I do not know, unless it was 
some passing pique against me,” replied the young man. 

“ It was nothing of the sort ! No malice, no selfish- 
ness of any sort entered into my act, evil as it was in 
itself.” 

“ I am sure of that, dearest,” said Net, in a low voice, 
as she pressed the hand of her friend, which she contin- 
ued to hold. 

“ And I beg your pardon for my own hastily given 
opinion, dear Antoinette,” added the young man. 

While these two spoke and answered Antoinette on 
the same subject, in the same conversation, they never 
looked at or addressed each other. 

In fact, they were as far apart as the nature of the 
interview would permit. 

Net sat on a low hassock beside Antoinette’s chair, 
and held her hand. 

Adrian sat .several feet off, with his hand idly playing 
with the trifles on the stand beside him. 

“ But you both now see the necessity of a last con- 
fession to vindicate my motives,” said the sick girl. 

“It was I, of course, who changed the notes in their 
envelopes, placing the one written to me under Net’s 
address, and the one written to her in mine. It was I 
who completely deceived Net into the belief that you 
had written to propose this marriage to her, which, 
indeed, all that had gone before might have led her to 
expect you to do. Ah, Adrian, dear, I knew that at 
last !” 

At these words the face of the young man crimsoned 
to the tips of his ears, and he snapped in two pieces a 
fragile little paper-cutter with which he had been play- 
ing. 


292 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


Net heaved a sigh of relief. She was pleased that 
Adrian should hear from Antoinette’s own lips how 
entirely she had been misled to believe that the fatal 
proposal of marriage had been meant for her, so that 
neither now nor ever could a doubt on the subject arise 
in his mind. 

Adrian, I should never have known the prior claim 
that Net had on your attention if it had not been for 
Kit — poor Kit Ken, who, with her outspoken truth, 
opened my eyes. I came to the Miston rectory, a 
young girl, just let loose from the strict discipline of a 
French boarding-school, full of vivacity and vanity — 
myself^ I mean, not the boarding-school, at all, at all. 
I found a young man at the rectory as handsome, as 
vivacious, and as vain as — myself ! Don’t wince, Adrian, 
dear. You know it is the truth I am telling.” 

The young man bit his lips and broke a book-mark 
between his finger and thumb and threw away the 
fragments. 

Antoinette continued : 

“ Naturally we two peacocks admired each other, 
and desired each other’s admiration, and set out to get 
it, and — did get it. We carried on a mutual admiration 
firm with distinguished success ; but as to love, my 
dear Adrian, up to that time you had never loved any- 
body but yourself, and I — had .never even loved my- 
self ! But I enjoyed admiration, devotion, homage, 
and never guessed the wrong I was doing to Net until 
poor Kit Ken burst forth upon me one day in a torrent 
of indignation, charging me with having broken Mis- 
tress Net’s heart, through taking aw^ay her ‘ young 
man.’ ” 

Now it was Net’s turn to blush up to the edges of 
her fine black hair, and to squeeze her cousin’s fingers 
until she winced. 


THE MEETING. 


293 


Kit’s story was a perfect revelation, a complete 
eye-opener. I believed it on the spot. I felt it to be 
truth. And from that moment I resolved to stop the 
play, and I did stop it. I began to treat you with a 
coldness that utterly puzzled you. And to retaliate on 
me, began to resume your attentions to Net — with 
the amiable motive of piquing my jealousy. Why, my 
dear, you were doing just exactly what I wished and 
intended you to do.” 

Adrian Fleming blushed until his brow was crimson, 
bit his lip until it bled, and unconsciously picked all 
the plumage off a stuffed humming-bird that hovered 
over a basket of wax flowers. 

Net, seeing all this destruction going on, and not 
knowing where it would end, slipped quietly up to the 
stand, took off everything that could be injured and 
placed them on a distant table, and re-placed with a 
vase of paper tapers, with which the restless fingers 
could play the mischief without much loss. 

All this Net did, and then resumed her seat, without 
having been noticed by Adrian, so gentle were her 
motions and so deep was his absorption in the subject 
of Antoinette’s discourse. 

“ And thus you see, Adrian,” continued the sick 
girl, “ how natural it was for Net and for every one else 
to believe that you had returned to your true allegi- 
ance. Affairs went on in this way for a while, until 
you grew impatient, found out your ruse did not 
answer your purpose, and tried to resume your friendly 
relations with me ; and when you found you could not 
do so, you thought me still angry with you, and you 
wrote that proposal of marriage which you inclosed to 
me, together with an off-hand sort of note to Net, 
which you desired me, in a postscript written on a 
separate piece of paper, to read so that I might know 


294 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


there could be no question of marriage between you 
and Net. I saw that these two notes could be trans- 
posed with perfect success so that Net should receive 
the proposal of marriage, that your conduct had given 
her^ as well as all her friends, every reason to expect." 

Here Adrian Fleming began, unconsciously, demol- 
ishing the sheaf of paper matches, while Net studied 
the windings of the rose-vine over the white ground of 
the carpet at her feet ; and Antoinette, after inhaling 
aromatic ammonia, continued her confession : 

“ When I resolved to entrap you, by your own letter, 
into doing justice to Net, I was not impelled by any 
malice or any other sort of selfishness. I was rather 
impelled by a spirit of mischief, fun, practical joking, 
and also by a wish that justice might be done to Net, 
whom I felt that I had wronged, and led you to wrong, 
and whom, therefore, I wished to right and compel you 
to right. My judgment was at fault, I know — very 
much at fault. I wronged Net by this last attempt to 
right her more bitterly than I had ever wronged her, 
or any other human being, before. I know this now, 
and I knew it within one hour after it was too late to 
retrace my steps — to undo my work ! I never spent 
such an unhappy night, in all my life, as the night on 
which dear Net — deceived by the proposal of marriage 
that had been made to me, but which I placed in the 
envelope you had directed to her — went off to Scotland 
to be married to you ! Pity, terror and remorse harassed 
me by turns. I hoped that the plot would be discovered 
before the marriage could be celebrated ; but that hope 
failed when you both returned — married !" 

And you did not confess ? murmured Adrian, 
almost involuntarily. 

“ I dared not ! I was in mortal fear of Dr. Starr ! 
Besides, I saw confession would do no good. I allowed 


THE MEETING. 


295 


you to believe that jf^u yourself had, in your haste, mis- 
directed the notes. I did not tell you so, in so many 
words, but I did suggest the possibility of your having 
made such a mistake, and you caught at it and believed 
it ! Ah ! my conscience would not permit me to tell a 
literal lie, but allowed me to forget that falsehood is 
falsehood, whether it be spoken in plain words, or 
hinted by suggestions or by silence ! Well, this is all 
I have to tell you, dear friends ; and now I have only 
to beg your pardon for the wrong I did you both, and 
to hope that the Divine Providence will ‘ shape our 
ends, rough hew them how we may.’ ” 

Antoinette stopped and sank back in her chair, much 
exhausted by the long-continued effort in conversation. 

Adrian Fleming arose and took Antoinette’s limp 
hand and raised it to his lips in silence ; then he paused 
before Net who was still seated on the low cushion 
beside her invalid cousin’s chair, and said : 

“ I have to ask your forgiveness for some misappre- 
hensions, that I now set right.” 

Net bowed in silence. Siie could not speak. 

The nurse came in, uncalled, and said : 

“ My dear Miss Deloraine, I have been waiting for 
your bell this half-hour. It is time for you to have 
your tonic and lie down.” 

Yes, it is ; you may bring it to me,” replied the poor 
girl, faintly and vaguely ; and then turning to her 
cousin she said — “ That bell we heard a few minutes 
ago was for lunch, dear. You know the way to the little 
rear breakfast-room where it is served. Will you show 
Mr. Fleming?” 

Net arose, pressed her lips to the pallid brow of her 
cousin, and with a slight bow to Adrian, led the way 
into the hall. 

There he offered her his arm. 


296 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


She declined the courtesy with a gentle gesture and 
walked on. 

Adrian Fleming frowned slightly and followed. 

A very dainty and tempting repast was elegantly 
served. 

They sat down opposite to each other at the little 
round table, and Hart served them from a little side- 
board. 

Each of these young beings looked more attractive in 
the other’s eyes than ever before. 

Both had grown handsomer in the few months of 
their separation. 

And now some little excitement of pride or pique 
had added color to their cheeks and sparkle to their 
eyes. 

Net owed nothing whatever to dress for her beauty. 
Nothing could be plainer than the lustreless black silk, 
trimmed with black crape, that she still wore as mourn- 
ing for her beloved step-father, and this was unrelieved 
by any ornament except the narrow white crepe lisse 
frilling around her throat and wrists ; and yet she 
looked beautiful with her rippling, v jet black hair, 
delicate features, dark-gray eyes, and brilliant com- 
plexion. 

When the light meal was about half over, and the 
young footman was standing at some little distance 
doing something at the sideboard, Adrian bent across 
the table to Net, and said : 

“ Do you not think that we might dispense with the 
attendance of that servant ?” 

“ No, by no means. He must remain here,” answered 
Net, gravely and politely. 

Adrian Fleming shrugged his shoulders and relapsed 
into silence, which continued to the end of the meal. 

When it was over they both left the table together. 


THE MEETING. 


297 


“ Where are you going ?” inquired Fleming, when 
they were out in the hall. 

“ To the drawing-room first. This is the hour at 
which Antoinette takes her nap and cannot be dis- 
turbed,” said Net. 

“ I understand that. Will you take my arm ?” 

‘‘ I thank you, no ; we dispense with formalities in 
this house for the present,” replied Net, as she walked 
on in advance. 

“You dispense with formalities when you please to 
do so. You did not please to dispense with the formal- 
ity of the servant’s attendance during the whole of 
lunch,” remarked Fleming, in an aggrieved tone. 

“Ah, but that was another thing,” said Net, as she 
swayed open the door of the drawing-room and en- 
tered. 

“ Here,” said Net, going up to one of the many well- 
laden little tables — “ here are ‘ Leach’s Pictures of 
English Life,’ from Punch. Here are also ‘ Lore’s Illus- 
trations of Tennyson’s Idyls of King Arthur,’ and 
many other amusing works. Pray entertain yourself 
and excuse me. I have letters to write.” 

She turned to leave the room but he called her back. 

“ Net !” 

“ Well ?” she responded gently. 

“ Why do you go and leave me ?” 

“ I have letters to write, really, and the only time I 
have to write them is while Antoinette sleeps.” 

“ Can they not wait ?” he inquired. 

“No, indeed they cannot. They should have been 
written before this. I left Castle Montjoie day before 
yesterday, reached here yesterday morning, spent 
nearly the whole day in Antoinette’s room, and went 
to rest early, because I was so very tired. This morn- 
ing, as soon as I had breakfast, I had to go to Antoin- 


298 


BRANDON Coyle's wife. 


ette, and I stayed with her until your arrival. Now I 
must excuse myself and write letters to Lady Arielle 
Montjoie and to Miss Desparde,” said Net, taking the 
trouble to explain herself at large, while she stood with 
her hand on the knob of the door. 

“ Net,” he said, looking intently at her, “ I shall have 
to leave here in two hours, in order to catch the six 
o’clock train.” 

“Shall you?” said Net, calmly. “Then perhaps 
you had better bid me good-bye now, as we may not 
meet again before you go.” 

He looked at her half fondly, half resentfully. How 
beautiful she was in her fresh, young womanhood ! 
Surely never so beautiful as now ! 

“ Net,” he said, reproachfully, yet affectionately, “is 
it possible that you have forgotten the relations that 
exist between us ?” 

“ I do not know that I really understand them, Mr. 
Fleming,” she answered, gently and gravely. 

“ Do you not understand that I am your husband and 
that I have some right to your society ?” he inquired, 
with a slight accent of anger in his tone. 

“ You told me once that the marriage ceremony, cer- 
tainly performed under a great misapprehension on 
your part, was good for nothing.” 

“ And you believed it ?” 

“ I neither believed nor disbelieved. I thought that 
you might be mistaken in that, as you had been in 
other matters ! But you did tell me the ceremony was 
invalid,” said the girl, quietly. 

“ Yet you took my name, and kept it.” 

“ Say, rather, that Sir Adrian Fleming and Dr. Starr 
both assured me that my marriage was perfectly valid, 
and forced the name upon me. I did not take your 
name willingly, Mr. Fleming— after what you had said 


THE MEETINO. 


299 


to me — any more than I would have come here willingly 
if I had known that you were to be a visitor at the 
house,” said the girl, still very gently. 

“ Net,” he eagerly exclaimed, “ would you believe me 
if I were to tell you now that though that mistake was 
a dreadful disappointment to me at the time, yet now I 
am grateful that it was you who stood by my side and 
was married to me, and that it was not your cousin ? 
Would you believe that my heart would have so 
changed, Net ?” 

“ Yes, Mr. Fleming ; for I believe you to be truthful, 
and I know you to be changeable,” said Net, with a 
slight smile. 

He made a gesture of impatience, but then controlled 
himself, and said : 

“ Net, I am not changeable in the depths of my soul. 
It was you, and you only, that I loved from first to last. 
My fancy for poor Antoinette Deloraine was but a hal- 
lucination of the eyes.” 

Net looked at him gravely, and a little sadly, and 
quoted some long-passed words of his : 

“ ‘ Miss Deloraine, it is you, and you only, whom I 
ardently adore. My affection for poor little Net Starr 
was but a sentiment of compassion for the good, little, 
overtasked creature.’ ” 

Adrian Fleming blushed scarlet to the edges of his 
fair hair as he stammered : 

“ You ! — you overheard me speak those words ! You 
were capable of eavesdropping, then !” 

“ No, indeed ; I never heard you ‘ speak those words.’ 
The quotation is altogether hypothetical. I only fancied 
that you were likely to have said just such words to 
Antoinette,” said the girl, with a smile in her eyes. 

Adrian Fleming made a gesture of desperation and 
disgust. He knew that he had committed himself. 


300 


BRANDON COYLE ’s WIFE. 


“ Come, come, Net,” he said, after a few moments of 
silence. “ We are, really and truly, legally and validly 
married. Let us forgive and forget. Dear Net, I 
swear by all my hopes of heaven it was you, and only 
you, whom I truly loved from first to last !” 

“ Oh, I dare say you think so 7iow, Mr. Fleming, and 
I am quite ready to forgive and forget, but not by any 
means ready to take your word for all your future 
states. You had better take time to be sure of your 
own mind, Mr. Fleming, before you ask me to make up 
mine. And now I must really bid you good-bye, for 
my letters must be written before mail time, and you 
will have probably departed before I get through. 
Good-bye.” 

And with the same unruffled gentleness. Net bowed 
and left the room. 

Adrian Fleming stood where she had left him, look- 
ing after her as long as she was in sight. 

Then he began to walk up and down the floor with 
very unequal strides, asking himself : 

“ Can this be Net ? This be the gentle, patient little 
Grizzelle whose very gentleness and patience I once half 
despised as weakness and poorness of spirit ? What a 
beauty she has grown to be ! But she is changed in 
more things than one. I wonder if she has ceased to 
care for me ?” he asked himself, as he went up to a pier- 
glass and contemplated his superb beauty in its reflec- 
tion there. 

“ Ah, bah ! of course she has not. She is only put- 
ting on this civil indifference — this gentle carelessness. 
And I deserve it all, I suppose. Well— one thing is cer- 
tain : if I wish to win Net again I shall have to woo 
her again. And I will not go back until I have done it. 
I will send to the station and telegraph the governor 
not to expect me until he hears from me again,” con- 


THE MEETING. 


301 


eluded Mr. Fleming-, as he gave the bell-cord a pull that 
suddenly brought Hart into the room. 

“ Pen, ink, and paper,’' was Fleming’s brief order. 
Yes, sir. Please, sir, will you permit me to show you 
into the library, where you will find every convenience 
of the sort,” said the boy, with a bow. 

“ Very well ; lead the way.” 

The footman showed the guest into the handsome 
library, placed a chair at one of the writing-tables, and 
drew out a drawer filled with stationery. 

“ Now go and ask the butler if he can dispatch a ser- 
vant on horseback to take a message to the telegraph 
office at the station. And do you come here to take it 
down.” 

The boy bowed and left the room. 

The young gentleman wrote the following telegram : 

“ Mr. Adrian Fleming, from Deloraine Park, to Sir 
Adrian Fleming, at Fleming Chase, Flemington, Dorset : 
Miss Deloraine is very ill, and not expected to live. 
Her cousin, my wife, is staying with her. The latter, 
you know, is heiress presumptive of Deloraine Park. 
Do not expect me home at present. Will write or tele- 
graph before I return.” 

He sealed this up in an envelope, with a sovereign, 
and gave it to Hart, who punctually reappeared to take 
it to the groom who was to convey it to the telegraph 
agent at the station. 

Having dispatched this business Adrian Fleming 
stretched himself on a sofa to take a nap while waiting 
for Antoinette to awake or Net to reappear. 



CHAPTER XXX. 

A LOVE CHASE. 

He must be worthy of her love, 

For not the faintest shade 

Of ail the charms that round her move 
Within his heart can fade. 

The glances of her gentle eyes 
Are in his soul enshrined ; 

Her radiant smiles, her tender sighs, 

Are treasured in his mind. MirAval. 

In the meantime Net had gone to her room ; but she 
was too deeply disturbed to sit down at once to her let- 
ter-writing. 

While in the presence of Mr. Adrian Fleming her 
self-respect had constrained her to the exercise of a 
severe self-control ; but as soon as she reached the priv- 
acy of her own chamber her over-strained nerves gave 
way, and she sank trembling into her easy-chair, where 
she sat some time before she could recover her calm- 
ness. 

Then she drew the little writing-table up before her, 
and commenced a letter to Lady Arielle Montjoie, to 
[302] 


A LOVE CHASE. 


303 


give the latter an account of her journey and of all that 
had happened since her arrival at Deloraine Park. 

While Net was so engaged, the sick girl, in her luxu- 
rious boudoir, slept on her lounge, under the influence 
of an opiate. 

Antoinette did not wake until four o’clock in the 
afternoon. She found the nurse sitting by her side, for 
in the present condition of her health Miss Deloraine 
was never left alone for a moment, sleeping or waking. 

“ Nurse, if you will be my maid for once and dress 
me for the afternoon, I will rise and sit up for a while,” 
said Miss Deloraine. 

The woman smilingly nodded assent to her request. 

While these things were going on in other parts of 
the vast house, Adrian Fleming was comfortably sleep- 
ing the deep sleep of fatigue on the sofa in the library. 

The profound quiet of the place favored his long and 
unbroken repose, so he slumbered on until five o’clock, 
when he was aroused by the ringing of the first dinner, 
or dressing-bell. 

“ And where the deuce am I to dress ?” he inquired, as 
he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the ebony 
clock on the mantel-shelf, where the hands pointed at a 
few minutes after five. 

He rang the bell and Hart promptly appeared. 

If you please, sir, the telegram went off all right, 
and here’s the agent’s receipt or somethink,” said the 
boy, delivering a sealed envelope. 

It was not any receipt, however, where none was 
needed. It was only the change for the sovereign that 
had been sent to pay for the telegram, 

“ Can you show me into a dressing-room where I may 
wash my hands ?” inquired the young gentleman, in an 
irritated tone, for he was impatient under a sense of 
having been neglected. 


304 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


“ If you please, sir, I have my mistress’s orders to 
show you to your own suite of apartments, sir, and that’s 
the first dinner-bell, if you please, and your porkmangle 
have been carried up,” replied Hart, pointing to his red 
head. 

“ Very well, then. Carry yourself up, and I will fol- 
low.” 

And Hart indexed his red hair again, and conducted 
the guest to an elegant suite of rooms, very much like 
the other suites except in color. 

These were upholstered in sea-green. 

The same sounding bell that roused Adrian Fleming 
from his nap, startled Net at her letter-writing. She 
settled herself again, hovyever, and did not leave her 
writing-table until she had sealed and superscribed her 
last letter. 

Then she arose and looked at her watch, and found 
that she had ten minutes to arrange her toilet for din- 
ner. 

She glanced at the mirror and saw that her neat dress 
of rich, lusterle.ss black silk, with delicate white crepe 
frills at the throat and wrists, needed very little atten- 
tion indeed. 

So she only washed her hands, shook out the folds of 
her skirt, took a white calla lily from its glass on the 
table and placed it in the dark braids of her hair, caught 
up a fresh pocket-handkerchief, and went out to the 
dining-room just as the second bell sounded. 

To her surprise, she met Adrian Fleming on the thres- 
hold. 

“ You missed your train, then ?” she said, with all the 
composure of outward manner that she could command. 

“ I did not try to catch ray train,” he answered, with 
a mischievous smile ; then he added gravely : “ No, Net, 
I did not leave the house ; nor will I leave it for the 


A LOVE CHASE. 


305 


present. We must not part again with a misunderstand- 
ing between us.*' 

Net thought that the misunderstanding had been 
none of her making or seeking ; but she said nothing, 
only passed into the dining-room and took her seat at 
the table. 

He followed her example. 

The butler and the footman were both in attendance 
— the butler waiting, it is to be presumed, in honor of 
the new guest. 

There could be no confidential conversation in the 
presence of these two. 

Fleming touched upon the subject which was at that 
time the most frequent topic of discussion in every 
drawing-room, parlor, club and dinner-table in Eng- 
land — the mysterious murder in the railway carriage, 
and the impending trial of Mr. Valdimir Desparde. 

“I saw him in New York just before he sailed. I 
had intended to remain longer abroad, but after having 
spent a couple of days with Desparde, and then parted 
with him after seeing him off to Liverpool, I was seized 
with a sudden and severe fit ot home-sickness, and I 
quickly made up my mind, packed my traps, and fol- 
lowed by the next steamer. I reached England only 
three days after he had landed ; and you may judge my 
consternation when, on picking up the London Times of 
that morning, I saw the account of his apprehension on 
the charge of having murdered that poor, witless crea- 
ture, Kit Ken,” said Adrian. 

“ Of course, you never believed it,” .said Net, not as 
a question, but as a positive affirmation. 

“ Believed it > No ! I read the whole account, and 
came to the conclusion that it was — another man whom 
I had positively known to be on intimate terms with the 
beautiful idiot.” 


306 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


“ I know the man to whom you refer, and I have 
more reason than you can have for believing him — nay, 
iovknowirig him to be the guilty party. But, unhappily, 
our mental convictions are not legal evidence, and we 
cannot get hold of the man, at least, we had not up to 
the time of my coming here ; and, indeed, nothing but 
the extreme illness of Antoinette could have drawn me 
away from Arielle and Vivienne at such a time.” 

“ When does his trial come on ?” 

“ On next Monday the assizes open at Yockley, and 
his case is the first on the docket. Only three days, you 
see, and no important evidence for the defense yet. 
We have been seeking through both public and private 
means to find Valdimir’s fellow-travelers from South- 
ampton to prove an alibis but hitherto without success ; 
for, you see, they were passengers for short stages, and 
though Valdimir exchanged observations with several 
of them, he neither knew their names nor did they know 
his, which makes our seeking almost impossible of 
success.” 

“ Unless an alibi can be proved it will be likely to go 
hard with him,” said Adrian. 

Net shuddered, but did not reply. 

Soon after the dessert was set on the table Net with- 
drew from the room, leaving Mr. Fleming to his wine. 

Adrian was very temperate. He took a single glass 
of light Rhine wine, and arose and joined Net in the 
drawing-room. 

“At last,” he said, with a sigh of satisfaction, “1 
have the opportunity of speaking to you without the 
gaping eyes and ears of servants. ” 

“ Do eyes and ears gape T' inquired Net, gravely. 

“Do not mock me. I love you, Net ! I love you !” 
he said, seizing her hand. 

She did not withdraw it. She neither repulsed nor 


A LOVE CHASE. 


307 


responded to his advance. She stood before him, to 
all appearance, quiet and indifferent. 

“ I love you, Net ! Why don’t you say something ? 
I love you !” 

“ So you have told me — and others — many times !” 
smiled the girl. 

‘‘Ah ! you do not believe me !” he said, with an 
aggrieved air — “ Net, you do not believe !” 

“ Oh, yes I do ! I believe that you love me, just at 
this moment, or rather I believe that you ihinkyou love 
me, just at this moment,” said Net, not smilingly this 
time, but very gravely. 

“ Ah, what do you mean by — ‘ just at this moment ’? 
Do you not know that I shall love you always, for all 
time ?” he inquired, in a voice full of pain. 

Net was silent. 

“ Say, do you not ?” he persisted. 

“ No, Adrian, I do not. 1 cannot !” she answered, 
truthfully and sorrowfully. 

“ Net ! Net ! how shall I ever win your confidence 
again ?” he cried, in a despairing voice. 

The girl looked at him in mute distress. She could 
not flatter him by any fair untruths. 

“ How ?” he asked. “ How, Net ?” 

“ I do not know,” she sighed. 

“ You will let me try. Net ? You will let me try to 
win your love ?” 

“ You have my love ; you have had my love through 
all,” she hastened to say, in a low, tremulous voice, 
but as if she were glad to be able to say it. 

“Bless you for those words. Net ! And your trust! 
You will let me try to win your trust too ?” 

“ Yes,” murmured the girl. 

At this moment they were interrupted by the 
entrance of Hart, who touched his red locks and said: 


308 


BRANDON COTLf/s WIFE. 


“ If you please, ma’am and sir, my mistress’s compli- 
ments and she would be glad to see you in her room, 
no7e^y if you please.” 

“ We will attend her. Come, Adrian,” said Net, 
leading the way to Antoinette’s boudoir. 

They found the invalid wrapped in a warm and 
beautiful dressing-gown of white velvet, trimmed with 
white Astrachan fur, and reclining in her resting- 
chair. 

“ I sent for you to see you for a little while before I 
retire, for I do not feel equal to sitting up long to- 
night,” she said, as she smilingly extended a hand to 
each. 

They pressed those pale hands to their lips and then 
took seats on each side of her. 

She looked from one face to the other to read the 
answer to the question she dared not ask — whether 
they had become reconciled to each other. 

She read there that they were tending towards a 
reunion, and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

The two visitors had scarcely seated themselves, how- 
ever, when the postman’s knock was heard on the hall 
door, and it sounded through the silent house as it 
never sounded before. 

“ I have no correspondents myself, now that you are 
here. Net,” said the invalid girl with a smile. 

The footman entered with a single letter on a silver 
tray, which he carried to Mrs. Fleming. 

“It is from Miston — from Lord Beaudevere. Will 
you excuse me ?” said Net, as she took the letter and 
examined it. 

“ Oh, by all means ! Read it at once, and let us hear 
all the news,” said Antoinette. 

The girl broke the seal, glanced over the letter and 
then read it aloud for the benefit of her companions : 


A LOVE CHASE. 


309 


“ Castle Montjoie — Midnight. 

“We have just got home from Yockley, dear Net, 
and, upon inquiry, find all well, including the most 
important items — the babies. Of course,! have no news 
to tell you of our search for defensive evidence. I 
write now only to inclose a letter that has arrived for 
you from Chelsea, London. Don’t know the locality, 
and don’t know the handwriting, but lose no time in 
sending it on to you, while I remain your friend and 
servant, *Beaudevere.” 

“ Who is the inclosed letter from, if I may venture to 
inquire ?” demanded Antoinette. 

“ I — don’t — know,” slowly replied Net, as she criti- 
cally examined the superscription. 

“ Well, then, suppose you open it and see,” said 
Antoinette with a smile. 

Net broke the seal and opened the second letter, 
which, oddly enough, inclosed a third. 

Net glanced over the open letter and started ; her 
placid face became agitated, her grave eyes grew joy- 
ous, as she gazed at the letter and rapidly traversed its 
contents. 

Her companions watched her in silent surprise and 
expectation as she quickly turned over the page and 
swiftly read to the conclusion. 

Then, seizing the third letter, she tore it open and 
quickly ran through it. 

Lastly, dropping it upon her lap, she burst into tears 
of joy, covered her eyes with her hands and exclaimed : 

“ Thank HeavQn ! Oh, thank, thank Heaven !” 

“ What is it all about. Net, dear ?” inquired the invalid 
girl. 

“ What does all this mean, my dear Net ?” demanded 
Adrian Fleming in the same instant. 


310 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


Net dropped her hands and turned her radiant face 
from one to the other — radiant through her tears as 
sunbeams through rain — as she answered : 

It means deliverance for Valdimir Desparde ! Oh, 
my dears ! It means deliverance !” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


FROM BEYOND. 


No seeming evil comes to any 

But may be fraught with good to many. 


With a defeated joy. 


Ayah. 

Shakespeare. 


Net was trembling all over with excitement. 

Her two companions gazed on her in expectation. 

“ This letter was directed to my home in Miston, and 
forwarded thence to Castle Montjoie. It appears to 
come from a lodging-house keeper with whom our 
poor Kit lived — ” 

“ News of Kit !" exclaimed Antoinette. 

“ Ah !” ejaculated Adrian. 

Both became deeply attentive. 

“ Yes, of course, news of poor Kit Ken, which gives 
the key to the whole mystery of her murder. Listen,” 
said Net, and she read : 

“Church Lane, Chelsea, London, j 
“ December the — , i8 — . ] 

“ To Mrs. Adrian Fleming. — My Dear Madam : You 
will be surprised at receiving a letter from a total 
stranger ; but you will pardon me for taking the liberty 


FROM BEYOND. 


311 


to write to you when you know why I am obliged to do 
it. Though in such a flutter of my spirits, from what 
I have just found out, as hardly to know which end I 
am standing on, much less what I am writing about. 
Excuse me, madam, but I have had a great shock this 
day, in hearing promiscuous news about her death, for 
I never take the papers, having no time to read them. 

“ But if anybody murdered her in that cruel way, 
which there is no denying that somebody did, it was 
him that done it and nobody else, which she had a fore- 
shadowing of some wickedness intended, though not as 
bad as that, as you will see by her letter, which I put 
up with this of mine to send to you, according to her 
own request that same day before she went away from 
me. 

And, madam, he treated of her scandalous, while 
she lived with me, and never came to see her above 
once or twice a week, and despised her and called her 
a lunatic. 

“ So she got into her poor head, because he called her 
so and because he threatened to put her into a lunatic 
asylum if she did not keep quiet, that he would do so 
some day, so as to get her out of the way and let him 
marry some great lady up to the North. 

“ So that identical day he came to take her away he 
popped in upon us all of a sudden in the forenoon, and 
told her to get ready to go with him in the afternoon, 
and he looked as if he had the— well, madam, you 
understand what I mean — in him ! 

“ He left to do some business down in the city, and 
then she began to pack up, gay as a lark, for she 
thought he was going to take her to his own grand 
home and acknowledge her as his wife. 

“ But after she had done her packing her good spirits 
all of a sudden give way, and it .seems she first sat down 


312 


BRANDON COYLE 8 WIFE. 


and wrote that letter to you, (which you will find 
inclosed,) and when she had finished it she brings it 
down to me, and she tells me how she mistrusted him 
because he had deceived her so many times, and how 
she feared he was not agoing to take her to his own 
home, and that he might be agoing to clap her into a 
mad-house, where she never would be heard of again, 
and leave her there, while he should go off and marry 
the great lady he was after. 

I tried to quiet her fears, but she said she could not 
trust him. And then she gave me this letter, and told 
me to keep it until I heard from her; but if I did not 
get news of her within ten days I might know that he 
had clapped her into a mad-house or some out-of-the- 
way prison, and then I must post this letter to y ^’^^ ; she 
said that you had known her as Christelle Ken and 
would see her delivered from bondage. 

“Ah, madam ! her doubts and fears never touched 
on the terrible truth that she was going to be murdered 
that same night. 

“ I promised to do all that she wished, and I put the 
letter away carefully. 

“ In the afternoon he came after her, in a cab. I hap- 
pen to know the number of the cab. It was E 003, and 
the name of the cabman was Nott. He told me after- 
wards, the cabman did, that he took them to Padding- 
ton Station. 

“ I kept the letter safe as safe, intending to send it if 
I did not hear from her in ten days ; and to burn it if I 
did. 

“ But this morning, madam, something happened 
which made me change my mind and send it imme- 
diate. 

“ A neighbor came in to bid me good-bye before going 
a journey, and says she : 


From beyond. 


313 


“ ‘ I travel by the third class. You don’t ketch me 
traveling alone in first or second class after this — no, I 
will travel in third class, where you can see all the peo- 
ple from one end to t’ other of the car and they can 
all see you. That poor Christelle Ken’s death ought to 
be a warning to us all.’ 

“ ‘ Christelle Ken !’ says I, a thinking of my lodger ; 
‘ what about her ?’ 

“ ‘ Eh — don’t you know ? She as was murdered in 
the railway carriage last Thursday a week ago !’ 

“‘Christelle Ken murdered in a railway carriage a 
week ago ?’ says I, with the marrow a curdling in my 
back-bone. 

“ ‘ Where have you been living, woman,’ says she, 
‘ not to have heard of that 

“ ‘ Tell me all about it,’ says I, as soon as I could 
speak again. 

“ And she did tell me all that was published in the 
papers about it ; and, moreover, she went to the news- 
agent’s at the corner and bought an old Times with the 
full account in it, which I read. 

“ And, madam, I am sorry to the bottom of my heart 
for that poor young woman ! It is worse than she 
feared ? It is not the mad-house, but murder, that has 
been her fate. And he did it, and nobody else but 
him ; and not that young gent as they took up for it. 
Let his friends, whoever they be, call me for a witness, 
and also my servant, Mary Mossop, and likewise Nott, 
the cabman, No. E 003, who took the party from here 
to Paddington. I would like to see that guilty man 
punished, and that poor simple girl avenged, and 
wouldn’t mind taking a journey up to Yockley myself 
to see it done, madam. And I remain 

“Yours to serve, Deborah Perkins.” 


314 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ There !” exclaimed Net. “ There is the landlady’s 
letter.” 

“She will be a most important witness for the 
defense ; so will the cabman, Nott. They must both 
be subpoenaed immediately. What an extraordinary 
story I” exclaimed Adrian Fleming. 

“ Read poor Kit’s letter !” impatiently demanded 
Antoinette. 

“Yes, here it is,” said Net. And she unfolded the 
second letter, and read : 

“ Church Lane Chelsea London, ) 

“ december the — i8 — . ) 

“ MI dear Mistress net. — I no I hevint got enny rite 
to rite to yo after behavin so bad to yo, but aint as bad 
as looks, mistress Net, I didn’t brake mi prom mis to 
yo when I cum away. I prommissed not to go away 
with him until he took me away to his own fowke and 
owned me for his lawfull wife. 

“ Yo mind the last nite I stade at yore house when I 
was so loe in mi mind with somethink hevvy, hevvy 
hangging over mi poor head ? Well mistress Net it 
was so tho I diddent know it then. 

“ It was him wot was hangging over my poore hed 
all unbenonst to yo or me. 

“I wasn’t expectin to se him no more than the eevil 
one himself, whol he stole in upon me that nite as I set 
all alone in the kitchen and tolde me he hed kum to 
take me home to his fowke, and I must kum rite off. 
Mistress net I begged and preyed of him to let me go 
and tell yo but he wuddent. He tolde me he had kum 
to kepe his prommis and take me to his fowkes but if 
I diddent kum with him then he wud newer aske me 
agane. 

“ And so he bullyded me until I goed with him. 


FROM BEYOND. 


315 


“ But mistress he newer kept no prommiss with me, 
but browt me to Lunnun town to a lodgement house 
with a Mistress Purkkings, a good woman, I will say 
that for her, where I have lived for all this time and he 
only humming to see me once in a whyle and skolding 
and threttening of me till I am fair crazy which he sed, 
himself that he wud clap me into a lunacy sylum if I 
wasn’t quiet. And now mistress net to the pint — 

“ To-day he kum to see me lukking so black he 
skeered the life out of me most but he tolde me to get 
reddy to go with him home to Kavelande as because his 
uncle Old mister Chrystofer Corle was dedd and he was 
marster now and I shud be mistress. 

“ And fust I was glad mistress net but now my harrt 
misgives me like it did once before and bevvy, hevvy 
hangs over mi poore head, ah ! hevvy more hevvy as it 
hung that nite ! 

“ I mebby doin of him a gret \vrong mistress net and 
if I am I beg his pardon ; but I do misdoubt him and 
fear him and I feel like somethink was going to hap- 
pen to me. 

“ Ime thinking mebby insted of taking me home to • 
Kavelande he will be clapping of me into a lunacy 
sylum where I will newer be herd of no more. And 
now mistress net 1 rite this letter for mi safety. If he 
keeps his prommiss to me and takes me to Kavelande 
and make a leddy of me I will rite to yo and all my 
friends to let yo know I am well, and hoping yo the 
same ; but if he don’t take me home and claps me into 
a lunacy, then yo wont hear nothink from me after that, 
but yo will get this letter sent to yo by the goode 
woman I live with, because I will leave it with her and 
make her prommiss to send it to yo if as how she dont 
get a letter from me dated at Kavelande to tell her I am 
well and happy in ten days. 


316 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ So if yo shud get this letter mistress net yo may 
know that he hazzent kep his prommiss to me to take 
me to Kavelande but has shet we up in a lunacy ormed 
way with me sommers. 

“ Eh, mistress net wot a wicked gel I be not to trust 
my owne husbande wot I prommissed and wowed to 
luv, onner and bay, when it was redd over us in the 
church ; but I cannt help it ; he hev tuk all the trust 
out of me he hev. 

“ Eh, then if he keeps faith with me this time, I will 
try my best to luv, onner, and bay him according to the 
lines red over us all the rest of my life. 

“ Oh, mistress net how I wish I hed newer seen him 
though. How I wish I was back with yo and the bairns 
in the little cottage, where I was so safe and happy. 

“ Eh, it was hevven there it was. 

“ Sometimes I dreeme I am back with yo, washing up 
the dishes with my sleeves rolled up and I am so happy 
until I wake and find it all a dreeme and then I cry fit 
to brake my harrt I do. 

“ I dunnot think I ewer luvved enny body rale tru 
but my own home fowke and yo and the bairns. 

But I waiited to be a leddy like a fule and this is 
wot I hev got for it. 

“ Now mistress net I no yo will forgive and forget and 
if this letter cums to yo, to tell yo I hewent been herd 
of since I left this place on this Thursday afternoon of 
December the — , please see to it that Mister Brendon 
Code is tukked up and med to tell where he hev poked 
me to, and so I be tuk to the judges to say whedder I be 
lunacy or not. 

“ And Lord forgive me for doubting of my owne hus- 
bande which hev killed all the faith in me, and med me 
feele like as if I was a helpless, friendless sinner given 
up to the power of the deevil himself. 


FROM BEYOND. 


317 


“ Dear mistress net forgive me and prey for me and 
believe me, with all my fawlts yor lowing humble ser- 
vant to kummand. 

Christelle Ken by rites mi leddy Brendon Corle.” 

As Net finished this strange epistle, there came a 
strong reaction over her nerves, and she burst into 
tears and wept long and bitterly. 

“ Poor Kit ! Poor Kit Ken !" she sobbed. “Going to 
her death with that dark foreshadowing of fate over her 
simple, childish mind !“ 

“ Ah ! but she had cunning enough to write that 
letter ! Heavens I what a Nemesis ! what an aveng- 
ing agent that woman has been to her own destroyer ! 
Her first letter saved Lady Arielle Montjoie, and 
dashed him down suddenly from the pinnacle of his 
ambitious hopes. He compassed her murder in the 
spirit of hatred and revenge, and now, from her grave, 
she exerts a power that will crush him. That letter, 
supported by the corroborative testimony of the lodg- 
ing-house keeper and the cabman, will be enough to 
vindicate Valdimir Desparde and to hang Brandon 
Coyle,” said Adrian Fleming. 

“ It is all too much, too dreadful to think of,” shud- 
dered Antoinette. 

“ Is there a train for London this evening ?” inquired 
Net. 

“ One at eight, which you cannot possibly catch,” 
answered Adrian Fleming. 

“ Which is the next T inquired Net. 

“ Twelve, midnight.” 

“ I must take that.” 

“ You are mad ! Start alone at midnight in the train 
for London !” exclaimed Antoinette. 

“ Yes, dear, I must do so — I must not lose one hour if 


318 


BRANDON COTLB^S WIFE. 


I can avoid it,” repeated Net. ” I must take these letters 
at once to Yockley, and put them in the hands of Val- 
dimir Desparde’s lawyers.” 

“ But at midnight — alone !” 

“ She shall not go alone,” said Adrian Fleming. 

“ Why not ? I am not afraid,” said Net. 

” Because I do not think it either safe or proper that 
you should start on that midnight journey alone,” re- 
plied Adrian. 

“ I have been constrained by duty to do some things 
that were not safe and seemed not proper, within the last 
year,” quietly replied the girl. 

“ But those days are past and gone, Mrs. Fleming,” 
retorted the young husband, with the air of taking 
some authority upon himself. 

“ Have they really ? And are you quite certain they 
will never return ? I am not,” said Net, speaking very 
gently. 

“ Come, come, do not quarrel ! Will you two never be 
reconciled ?” inquired Antoinette, uneasily. 

“ We are not at enmity,” answered Net. 

“ By Jove, I think you have ceased to care for me, as 
well as to trust in me,” muttered Adrian Fleming, in a 
very low voice ; then, with a sudden flush, he contin- 
ued : “ I know that I have forfeited all claims to your 

consideration ; but I cannot really suffer you to start on 
a long journey at midnight, and alone. I must attend 
you, but, madam, I will treat you with as much distant 
respect as if I were only your courier or your footman.” 

Now Net’s delicate face flushed. She spoke but one 
word. 

“ Adrian,” and then her voice died away. 

“ You must accept my escort. Net,” he added. 

“ Adrian,” she recommenced, with recovered firmness, 
“ if I hesitated, it was because I once accepted your 


FROM BEYOND. 


819 


escort on a journey rather too hastily, too unadvisedly ; 
and )^ou know what followed.” 

“ Don’t speak of that time, Net. It is reminding a 
sane man of the acts of his madness. I do not regret 
that journey, Net, but I repent what followed. And 
now I shall go with you to Yockley.” 

“ I do not decline your escort, Adrian. I thank you 
for taking so much trouble,” she replied, gently. 

All her words and tones were very gentle, yet they 
all betrayed that her confidence in the reality and sta- 
bility of his affection for her was shaken to its founda- 
tion. 

“ Well, I am glad that you are going together. But, 
dear Net, come back to me as soon as you can,” said 
Antoinette with a smile. 

“ Indeed I shall ! Oh I I regret very much to leave 
you, even for so short a time. I would send these let- 
ters by mail and remain here, only — only a life may 
depend upon their safe delivery, and I feel bound to 
take them myself. But just as soon as I see them 
secure in the hands of Mr Stair I will hasten back to 
you,” said Net. 

“ Bede says that I am much better. I hope I shall be 
here when you return. Net,” said Antoinette, cheer- 
fully. 

“ I hope that your improvement may be a permanent 
one, dear,” replied Net, raising the hand of the sick 
girl to her lips. 

“ Ah ! well, ‘ Hope springs eternal in the human 
breast,' ” quoted Antoinette, in a non-committal sort of 
way. 

“ Net, it is eight o’clock. You had better see about 
your packing, had you not ? It takes two hours to 
drive to the station,” said Adrian Fleming. 

“ I brought nothing but a valise here, and I shall take 


320 


BRANDON OOYLe’s WIFE. 


nothing but a small hand-bag back. I can be ready to 
start in fifteen minutes,” said Net. 

“ And you have two hours before it is necessai^ to 
start to catch that train. It is eight now, as Adrian 
says. You need not leave here until ten. So, Mr. 
Fleming, you may ring and order the close carriage for 
that hour, and then come back to take tea with us in 
this room,” added Antoinette, as she rang the little 
hand- bell that stood on the stand by her side. 

Adrian Fleming left the room to give orders about 
the journey, and a few moments later Mrs. Trimmer 
entered in answer to her mistress’s bell. 

“ Tell Hart to serve the tea in this room,” said Miss 
Deloraine, and the woman withdrew to obey. 

Twenty minutes later the three friends were gathered 
around the tea table, which was pushed up close to 
Antoinette’s invalid-chair. 

Scarcely ever had Miss Deloraine seemed brighter or 
more cheerful than at this little social tea. No one then 
looking at her, in ignorance of her real condition, could 
have believed her to be the subject of a fatal malady. 
It is true that she was very much emaciated, but she 
was no longer pale. Pleasant excitement in the society 
of her two friends had brought color to her cheeks and 
lips, light to her eyes, and animation to her manner. 

Soon after tea the nurse came in and insisted that 
Miss Deloraine had already sat up too long and must 
now retire. 

Antoinette laughingly bade Adrian good-night and 
dismissed him, but she retained Net by her side until 
the latest minute, making the girl accompany her to her 
bed-chamber, and even sit by her bed head until it was 
time for Net to put on her bonnet and join Mr. Fleming 
in the hall. 

By ten o’clock Net kissed her cousin good-bye, and. 



“OH, ARIELLE! OH. VALDIMIR !”— .SVg Page 269 




DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN. 


321 


escorted by Adrian, set out on her night ride to the 
railway station. 

They drove fast, and succeeded in catching the mid- 
night express. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN. 

Pilgrims who journey through a stormy night, 

Observe, as nearer to the day you draw. 

Faint gleams that meet you from the coming light. 

See darkness lighten more, till, full of awe. 

You stand upon the sunlit mountain height. 

Trench. 

On Monday the trial was to come on, and up to this 
day — Saturday — no witness could be found to prove an 
alibi for the prisoner. 

Desparde’s friends and his counsel were almost in 
despair ; yet they concealed their gloomy misgivings 
from him. 

Lord Beaudevere had left Vivienne Desparde at Cas- 
tle Montjoie with Lady Arielle, and he himself had 
returned to Yockley and taken up his quarters at the 
White Bear Inn ; not the best public house in the town 
by any meaDs, but the nearest to the prison, and there- 
fore the most convenient. 

Early on this Saturday morning Lord Beaudevere 
went to the prison, and was at once admitted to the cell 
of his kinsman, where he had promised to meet Messrs. 
Stair and Turner, counsel for the prisoner. 

These gentlemen had not yet, however, arrived. 


322 BRANDON COTLE^S WIFE. 

He found Valdimir Desparde alone, seated at his little 
table and suffering under a deeper depression of spirits 
than he had yet exhibited. 

He started up from his chair to meet the baron as the 
latter entered the cell. 

“ Any news ?’' was the question simultaneously asked 
by the visitor and the prisoner as their hands met. 

“ None whatever,” was the simultaneous answer. 

Are not Stair and Turner coming ? They promised 
to meet me here at nine o’clock. It is nearly half-past 
— here they are now !” suddenly exclaimed the baron, 
as footsteps were heard coming down the corridor. 

The next moment the door was opened and Messrs. 
Stair and Turner were ushered in. 

” Any news ?” was the question simultaneously uttered 
by the two men in the cell and the two men entering it. 

“ None,” was the answer in quartette. 

They entered into a deep and earnest conference that 
lasted until two o’clock, when the “ legal gentlemen ” 
adjourned to the White Bear for luncheon, while Lord 
Beaudevere and Valdimir Desparde partook of refresh- 
ments sent from the same house. 

At three o’clock the gentlemen met again in the cell 
of the prisoner, where the consultation was resumed. 

They had been in deep conference for about an hour, 
when footsteps were heard coming down the corridor, 
the door was once more opened, and Adrian Fleming 
entered the cell with a vailed lady on his arm. 

Exclamations of surprise from Lord Beaudevere, and 
of pleasure from Valdimir, arose in chorus as the two 
gentlemen left their seats and held out each a hand to 
welcome the new-comer. 

“ Glad to see you, my dear boy ! Didn’t know you 
were in England. Thought you were abroad still,” 
exclaimed Lord Beaudevere, heartily shaking his hand. 


DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN. 


323 


“ When did you arrive ? You must have made up 
your mind suddenly, and followed me by an early 
steamer,” said Valdimi^Desparde, speaking- in the same 
moment. 

“ Thanks, Baron ; 1 am equally happy to meet you. 
Yes, Desparde ; that is just what I did — made up my 
mind suddenly and followed you by the next steamer. 
My rencontre with you, followed by your departure, 
made me so homesick that I hurried after you by the 
next ship,” exclaimed Fleming, answering right and 
left. 

” And how very good of you to come and see me 
here so soon,” exclaimed Valdimir. Then, remember- 
ing the presence of others, he said : “You know Mr. 
Stair and Mr. Turner, I believe ?” 

“ I have that pleasure,” said Fleming, bowing to the 
gentlemen indicated, who returned his salutation. 

This passed in about two minutes, during which Net 
stood, vailed and silent. 

And this lady V' queried Lord Beaudevere, in a low 
voice ; for his old-school courtesy was scandalized at 
the seeming neglect in which the lady stood. 

The young gentleman smiled slightly as he took Net’s 
hand and presented her, saying : 

“ My wife, Mrs. Adrian Fleming. She has some evi- 
dence to offer in this case which I think you will con- 
sider very important for the defense.” 

In the meantime Net had thrown aside her vail, and 
was shaking hands with her old friend, the baron. 

“How did you leave your cousin, my dear?” he 
kindly inquired. 

“ She is better ; yet I should not have left her but to 
bring you some evidence on this case which was too 
precious to be trusted to the mails,” said Net, as she 
dived into the folds of her sack and drew from an inner 


324 


BRANDON COYLE ’S WIFE. 


pocket a large, thick letter, which she handed to the 
baron. 

“ What is this, my dear ?” he inquired, examining the 
packet earnestly, while Desparde and his counsel, at the 
words “ evidence,” and “ defense,” gathered around him. 

‘‘ It is the same packet that was forwarded from Mis- 
ton to Castle Montjoie, and from Castle Montjoie sent 
by you to me at Deloraine Park.” 

“ And it is — it is — what is it ?” demanded the baron, 
beginning to unfold the many pages. 

“ It is a posthumous letter from the poor murdered 
girl, Kit Ken — ” began Net. 

“ Read them. Stair,” replied the baron, passing the 
letters over. 

The barrister read them first, silently while his com- 
panions watched him eagerly. 

Then he looked up and said : 

“ These will do, Mr. Desparde. But now I must go 
out and get an officer sent to London at once to sub- 
poena and bring down three witnesses from London — 
the cabman Nott, the landlady, and her maid-of-all- 
work. Mr. Desparde, I congratulate you. We can 
dispense with the alibi now, since the murderer is iden- 
tified,” said Stair, as he was about to leave the cell. 

“ Hi ! Stop ! You are not going to take those 
letters away without telling us their contents 1" ex- 
claimed Lord Beaudevere. 

“ My dear Baron, I have no time to wait. These 
witnesses must be got down here by Monday morning. 
I must see an officer start by the first tram for London 
with the subpoena. Here, Turner, you can read these 
letters aloud for the benefit of all concerned. Begin 
with the landlady’s first. It is the best looking letter. 
You will know it by that. Desparde, I will see you 
again before the doors are closed. Au revoir'' 


DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN. 


325 


And he hurried away. 

Mr. Turner took up the letters to read them. 

Before he could find the place to begin, Stair came 
hurrying back, put his head into the door, and ex- 
claimed : 

“ I say. Turner ! Don’t lose or mislay those letters ! 
They are a thousand times more precious than their 
weight in diamonds !” 

“Be easy; they are perfectly safe,” answered the 
younger counsel. 

And as Stair’s footsteps again receded from the door, 
Turner opened the landlady’s letter and read it aloud, 
interrupted now and then, by the exclamations, com- 
ments or questions of his small audience. 

After finishing it he took up Kit Ken's letter, and 
read that from beginning to end, though with much 
more difficulty than had attended the perusal of the 
landlady’s epistle, because of poor Kit’s imperfect spell- 
ing, writing and pointing. 

Many comments followed the reading of this piteous 
letter ; some tears were shed by Net and Baron Beau- 
devere over the tragic fate of the poor victim. 

In less time than was expected, Mr. Stair came back, 
and reported that he had got his officers armed with a 
subpoena for the witnesses wanted, and that he had 
started them off to London by the train that had left. 

“ We have done our mission here now,” said Net, 
“ and we may go. Mr. Desparde, I am very glad to 
have brought you down these letters which are to be 
such powerful agents in your defense,” she added, turn- 
ing kindly towards the young man. 

“ Mrs. Fleming, I shall hold you in grateful remem- 
brance so long as I live,” earnestly replied Desparde. 

“ I don’t see any ground for gratitude in so simple an 
act,” replied Net. 


326 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


Then turning to the baron, she said : 

“ Lord Beaudevere, I could not before bring my little 
personal interests into a discussion involving such sol- 
emn results, but now I would like to know how my 
babies are ?” 

“ Plump and blooming as autumn apples ! Appetites 
like little pigs ! Petted by all the family, and toadied 
by all the servants like a little prince and princess 1 
They are spoiling them finely for you, my dear !” heart- 
ily responded the baron. 

“ Thanks. I am very glad to hear they are well,” re- 
plied Net, with a happy smile, “ And now, I think, we 
must take leave. I wish to get the next train ; for I 
promised my cousin to hurry back to her.” 

“ But, my child, you have been traveling incessantly 
for eighteen hours, now are you going to turn right 
back and travel eighteen more ?” 

“ Yes, Baron, for so I promised my cousin, and she is 
ill,” gently replied Net. 

“ And you will be ill if you do not take care. Mr. 
Fleming, are you going to allow your wife to do this 
willful deed ?” 

Adrian shrugged his shoulders and laughed. 

Net took leave of her friends and went off to the 
train, escorted by her husband. 

They were soon on their way back to Devonshire. 

The baron and the counsel remained in the cell with 
the prisoner, not intending to leave him until they 
should be compelled to do so by the prison regulations 
for the closing of the doors at six o’clock. 

It was scarcely five when Net went away. 

They had conversed but a few minutes when other 
steps were heard approaching the door, and one of the 
clerks from Mr. Turner’s law office entered the cell 
with a telegram in his hand. 


DARKNESS BEFORE DAWN. 


327 


“ This has just arrived, sir, and by your orders I bring 
it to you." 

“ Very well, Kinch," replied Mr. Turner breaking the 
seal of the envelope and examining its contents. 

Then he sprang up, exclaiming : 

“ Hurrah for us ! ‘It never rains but it pours ?’ Listen 
to this : 

“‘John Harrier, Scotland Yard, London, to Tobias 
Turner, Esq., Barrister, Yockley . — We have dropped 
down upon an old party who came over on the Colorado 
with Mr. Desparde,and afterwards rode on the same train 
with him from Southampton to Peterboro, and will be 
able to prove an alibi, since he knows that Mr. Desparde 
could not have been at Paddington on the day he was 
said to have engaged the reserved compartment of the 
railway trian in which the poor girl was found mur- 
dered.’ ’’ 

“ Kinch !’’ exclaimed the lawyer, “ go immediately 
and telegraph John Harrier to have that man subpoe- 
naed and sent here to testify on Monday. Do you hear ?" 

“ Yes, sir, certainly ; but here is a letter that also 
came, post-marked Dunross, that I thought you might 
like to see," added the clerk, putting in his principal’s 
hand a large white envelope with a staring red seal, 
and then leaving the room. 

Mr. Turner asked permission of his companions and 
then broke the seal. 

“ I told you so !" he exclaimed, when he had run his 
eyes over this letter. “ ‘ It never rains but it pours' 
quotha ? I say it never rains but it turns to a Noah’s 
flood. Listen here : 


328 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ Hetherby Hall, Killcuthie. ) 

“ December — , i8 — . ) 

“To Tobias Turner, Esq. — Sir: I have just seen 
your advertisement for a gentleman who rode from 
Peterboro to the Grand Junction on the night of Decem- 
ber the — with a dark-complexioned young man, in an 
ulster great-coat and a railway cap, who had recently 
returned from America, and conversed about the rela- 
tive advantages of that country and ihis^ and so forth. 

“ Now, I am the man you want, though I do not see 
how it can be for my ‘ advantage ’ to be found, unless 
the young fellow, who seemed to take a great fancy to 
me, has died and left me all his money, and I don’t see 
how he could do that unless he knew my name, which 
he don’t. 

“ Anyway, I am willing to be found. 

“ Here I am, and this is my name and address : 

“ Alexander McQuilligan, 

“ Hetherby Hall, Killcuthie, 

“ Lock Ronald, Sutherland. 

“ P. S. — Would have answered your advertisement 
before this if I had seen it sooner ; but have been 
knocked up with bronchitis for the last week or ten 
days, during which I never glanced at a paper. 

“ Only just now got about and found your advertise- 
ment.’’ 

“ What do you think of that ?’’ inquired Turner, with 
a triumphant smile. 

“ I think our case is all right now ! We must sub- 
poena this gentleman and let him know what we want 
with him ! I hope he will not be greatly disappointed 
on finding out that it is not to give him a fortune that 
has been left him,’’ said Mr. Stair. 


THE TRIAL. 


329 


“ Do you remember this man by his own letter, Val- 
dimir ?” inquired Lord Beaudevere. 

“ Yes, I do,’’ replied Desparde, with a droll air. “ He 
is one of those poor and pompous old Highlandmen who 
would probably insist upon being called ‘ The McQuil- 
ligan.’ I remember him perfectly.” 

But the hour had now come for the visitors to take 
leave. 

They all arose and bade a cordial good-night to the 
lonely but now hopeful prisoner. 

“ Well, Mr. Desparde,” said Mr. Turner on leaving 
him, “ we most heartily congratulate you on this day’s 
developments. We may now go into court with the 
most confident anticipation of a triumphant victory.” 


-4 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE TRIAL. 

Justice, when equal scales she holds, is blind ; 

Nor cruelty nor mercy change her mind ; 

When some escape for that which others die, 

Mercy to those to these is cruelty. Denham. 

What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted ? 
Thrice is he armed who hath his quarrel just, 

And he but naked, though locked up in steel. 

Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. 

Shakespeare. 

Adrian and Net caught the 5 p. m. express at Miston, 
and traveling day and night without the loss of an hour, 
reached Deloraine station at ten o’clock the next morn- 
ing. 


330 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


They found the same cab waiting beside the plat- 
form which had taken Net to the hall on the morning 
of her first arrival. 

Adrian engaged it at once and handed Net into her 
seat. 

“ Ask the man if he knows how Miss Deloraine is to- 
day,” whispered Net, as she settled herself on the hard 
cushions. 

“ Have you heard any news of the young lady at the 
hall, this morning ?” inquired Mr. Fleming. 

“ The young lady was ill last night, sir. Hart, he 
come at ten o’clock for Dr. Bede ; I had been out with 
a part)’’ and met him taking the doctor back,” replied 
the man, touching his hat, not only once but at every 
other word he spoke. 

“ That was last night ; but how is the young lady 
this morning ? Better, it is to be presumed,” hastily 
inquired, or rather suggested, Mr. Fleming, on seeing 
the increased anxiety of his companion. 

‘‘ Haven’t heard to-day, please, sir,” answered the 
man, trying to make up by the abundance of his 
courtesy for the scarcity of his information. 

Well, then, take us thither — to the hall — as fast as 
possible ! An extra half-crown, mind, for extra haste,” 
exclaimed Fleming, as he sprang into his seat and 
closed the door. 

“ All right, sir,” answered the cabman, as he touched 
his hat, mounted to his seat and started his horses. 

They bowled on at a rapid rate and made the dis- 
tance in an hour and a half. 

As the cab rolled through the park gate, which was 
held open by an elderly women, the driver inquired : 

“ Say, Mother Swing ! How is the young Missus up 
at the house ?” 

“ Bad as bad, when the doctor passed through here, 


THE TRIAL. 


331 


arter leavin’ of her last night. Him be gone up again 
this morning. Spects to hear when he comes back,” 
answered the woman. 

'‘'‘Gat 'long!" exclaimed the cabman, addressing his 
horses, as he lashed them up to a brisk trot along the 
avenue. 

As they drew in sight of the house, Net, with her 
head at the side window, anxiously watched for some 
sign to hint or some person to tell of the condition of 
Antoinette Deloraine. 

They met a boy in a smoke-frock with his hands in 
his pockets. 

“ How is your young mistress, this morning ?” 
inquired Net. 

“ Anan ?” cried the lad, with mouth and eyes equally 
wide open. 

“ Miss Deloraine ! How is she this morning ?” 
repeated Net, with only a slight alteration in the form 
of her question. 

“ Oi dunnoo,” answered the boy, sauntering along on 
his wayi 

They came in sight of the house. 

Net looked put eagerly. 

There was no hatchment up over the portals, nor any 
other sign of death in the house. 

The doctor's gig was standing before the door. 

As they drove up. Net saw Dr. Bede come out of the 
house — a tall, gaunt, stooping old man of seventy-five 
years, with a thin, sharp red face and a bald head, with 
a slight fringe of silver hair behind his ears and at the 
nape of his neck. He wore a long, straight black coat 
buttoned up to his chin and down to his toes. 

Without waiting for him to get into his gig. Net 
beckoned him to the window of the cab. 

“ How is Antoinette this morning ?” she inquired. 


332 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


“ Much better, I am happy to say, my dear young 
lady,” answered Dr. Bede. 

“ I hear that she was very ill last night,” continued 
Net. 

“ Very^ ma’am. She lay so long in a fainting fit that 
I began to think I should never bring her out of it.” 

“ What caused it — any excitement ?” 

“ No, nothing of the sort ; the housekeeper and the 
nurse were with her at the time, and she was in the 
midst of giving some commonplace directions to the 
former, when all of a sudden, she dropped. This was 
about eight o’clock, and the stupid women lost some 
time in trying to bring her round themselves before 
they sent Hart after me. With all the haste I could 
make, it was half-past ten before I got here, and she 
had lain unconscious all the time. However, she seems 
all right again now, or, rather, as near being all right 
as she ever can be in this world ! Good morning, 
madame ! good morning, sir !” 

And with a bow the worthy doctor got into his gig 
and drove away. 

Adrian alighted and paid the cabman and discharged 
him ; but he^ mindful of warmth and refreshment for 
“ man and beast ” on the occasion of his last visit to the 
house, instead of wheeling off and going back, kept on 
around by the stable, where he committed his horse to 
the care of one of the grooms for rest and food, while 
he himself walked to the house and entered the kitchen 
to be coddled and comforted by the cook. 

Meanwhile, Adrian and Net had been admitted by 
the hall porter and conducted up stairs by Hart. 

In the upper hall they found Mrs. Trimmer waiting. 

“ My mistress desired that you should come to her 
immediately on your arrival, str, and madame,” said 
this Abigail. 


THE TRIAL. 


333 


“ How is she now ?” inquired Net. 

“As bright as usual this morning, ma'am ; but we 
thought she was gone last night,” answered the woman, 
as she opened the door of the boudoir and announced : 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Fleming.” 

Net and Adrian entered. 

Antoinette, in an elegant robe of pale blue silk, 
trimmed with swan’s-down, and with her beautiful 
raven -black hair carelessly but gracefully dressed, 
reclined in her rose-colored easy-chair, with her feet 
upon a rose-colored foot-cushion. 

But how alabaster white and semi-transparent her 
wan face looked in contrast to the shining, jetty 
blackness of her hair ! 

“ Ah, you have come back — I am glad to see you !” 
she said, cheerfully, holding out a hand to each. 

Net could scarcely keep back her tears, so marked 
an alteration for the worse did she perceive in Antoin- 
ette’s look and voice. 

Little more than the merest civility passed between 
this strangely-wedded, parted and reunited pair. Lov- 
ing each other ardently, they were still somewhat 
estranged — on Adrian’s side by his consciousness of 
his former wrongs to Net, and his pride in belief that 
he had already made all the amends that he was able 
to make, and as much, indeed, as any “ man ” could 
bring himself to make ; and on Net’s side, by the 
bitter and humiliating memory that she had been once 
too easily won to marry him when he believed that he 
was marrying her rival. Much as she loved him she 
could not fully trust him, and she was resolved not to 
deceive herself, or allow him to deceive her again. 

So she waived all his advances with a perfectly 
gentle courtesy, which infuriated him, because it gave 
him nothing — not even just cause of offense. 


834 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


It would have been some comfort to have quareled 
with Net. Yes, since he could not make love to her, 
the next best thing would have been to find fault with 
her, he thought. 

But she gave him no opportunity to do the one any 
more than the other. 

Altogether the young man was in a very bad humor 
when he left the breakfast table with Net. 

Antoinette was looking so well, and so quiet, that 
Net thought she might now broach a subject which she 
had been dreading to approach all the morning. 

“ And now, dear, 1 must tell you something that I 
hate to trouble you with,” said Net, uneasily. 

“ And what is that ?” inquired her cousin. 

“ I am called for the defen.se, and I must be in Yock- 
ley on Tuesday morning. Consequently I must leave 
here to-morrow morning.” 

“ Oh, Net !” exclaimed the sick .girl, in dismay. 

Adrian stared at her in astonishment. 

“ How is that ? You never told me that V he said, 
in displeasure. 

“You never hinted it. Net !” said her cousin. 

“ You need not escort me on this occasion, Mr. 
Fleming. I know the route quite well by this time, 
and I shall be leaving in the early morning instead of 
at midnight,” said Net, with gentle courtesy. 

“ But you will be arriving at Yockley at midnight, 
which will be much worse than starting from here at 
the same hour. I shall attend you. I do not choose 
that you shall take such a journey alone. You are my 
wife,” answered the young man, coldly. 

“ And it will not hurt hwi to fatigue himself. He 
has got nothing else to do,” said Antoinette, with an 
amused look. 

Adrian shrugged his shoulders and made no reply. 


THE TRIAL. 


335 


He soon excused himself and walked out, leaving the 
friends together. 

Net spent the day in Antoinette's room. 

The half estranged young married pair did not meet 
again until they met at the dinner table, where the 
butler and the footman were both in attendance. 

Do you know that you acted very wrong in that 
matter of returning here only to have to take the jour- 
ney back again to-morrow ?” began Adrian Fleming, 
at length, disregarding the presence of the servants. 

“ I have already explained my motives of action. 
They seemed more than justifiable — they seemed 
obligatory to me, and, I hoped, satisfactory to others,” 
answered Net, with mild affability that disarmed her 
accuser. 

“ Bah ! She will neither love me nor quarrel with 
me !” said Adrian to himself. 

After dinner they took tea with Antoinette in her 
boudoir, and remained with her until eight o’clock, her 
hour for retiring to bed. 

Then Mr. Fleming bade her good-night and good-bye, 
as they would be off in the morning before Miss Delo- 
raine’s hour for rising. 

But Net rerrtained with her friend, helped to undress 
and get her to bed, and then sat by her until Antoinette 
fell asleep, after which Net retired to her own room to 
make her few preparations for starting on her journey. 

Meanwhile, Adrian Fleming, acting under protest, 
had ordered the close carriage and best road horses to 
be at the door at six o’clock in the morning, to go to 
Deloraine railway station. 

Net’s hurried journeying “ to and fro on the face of 
the earth ” had one good effect. They insured to her, 
whenever she found herself on a bed, the sound sleep 
of fatigue, notwithstanding the cares that were on her 


336 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


mind — cares connected with Antoinette Deloraine’s ill- 
ness, with Valdimir Desparde's trial, and with Adrian 
Fleming’s false position towards herself. 

She slept soundly until five o’clock, when, according 
to her previous orders, she was called. 

While she was dressing by candle-light, for it was 
still dark at five o’clock on that December morning, 
some one knocked at the door. 

“ Come in,” said Net. 

Mrs. Trimmer entered the room and said : 

“ If you please, ma’am, my mistress is awake, and 
sends her love to you, and asks that you will please to 
come in after you have had your breakfast and bid her 
good-bye before you go.” 

“ Certainly I will. Tell your mistress so. How is 
she this morning ?” 

“ Bright as a bird, ma’am ; but nurse says she means 
to make her go to sleep again after you have gone,” 
replied the woman, and she left the room. 

Net soon finished her simple traveling toilet, and 
hurried to the breakfast-room, which was lighted by 
wax candles in the hanging chandelier. 

The table was set for two, but there was no one in 
the room. 

Net rang for coffee, and as soon as it was brought, 
with its attendant muffins, toast, eggs and rashers, she 
sat down and commenced her repast. 

Adrian Fleming came in just as she was rising from 
the table. 

“ Excuse me,” she said, gently. ‘‘ Antoinette has sent 
for me and I must attend.” 

Adrian bit his lips. 

‘‘ It is always Antoinette, or the children, or any one 
else than myself, who command your attention, Net,” 
he said, sulkily. 


THE TRIAL. 


337 


“ The dying have omnipotent claims on us, Adrian," 
she answered, quietly, as she left the room. 

She found Antoinette lying on her beautiful and 
luxurious bed, looking as lovely, as happy and as com- 
fortable as it was possible for an invalid to be. 

“ I sent for you not only to kiss you good-by and to 
wish you a pleasant journey, dear Net, but also that 
you may see for yourself and take away with you an 
impression that will make your mind easy on my 
account until you shall see me again. Net, I have not 
felt so well, for the last three months, as I feel this 
morning. If you stay with me all the winter, I should 
not wonder at all if I should live to take that summer 
trip with you and the children which we have talked 
about Net, I feel as if I were going to get well," she 
concluded, as she threw her arms around her cousin’s 
neck. 

“ May the Lord in heaven grant it !" fervently and 
sincerely responded Net, as she returned the embrace, 
and then seated herself on the side of the bed. 

Antoinette raised up and drew out a little drawer 
from the table by her bed, and took from it her porte- 
monnaie, which she opened and from which she took a 
five-pound note, saying : 

“ Now you know, Net, if I were up and about I should 
buy some books or toys to send the children. You must 
be my agent and buy them for me. Net — " 

Little Mammam opened her mouth to object to the 
amount, but was quickly hushed by her cousin, who 
continued : 

“ I know that boy wants a velocipede as well as if I 
had heard him expre.ss the wish, and I know that girl 
wants ‘ another doll.' I know that all girls want another 
doll! I would get these things for the children,. if I 
were up and well ; but as I am in bed and weak, you 


338 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


must get them for me and give them to the children, 
and anything else they would like — There, Net, not a 
word of opposition ! Don’t dispute with a sick woman, 
please ! The doctor says I must be kept quiet ! Now 
to be kept quiet, I must not be contradicted,” added 
Antoinette, with a humorous smile. 

You are very, very good, and the children will be 
delighted,” said Net, bending down and kissing her 
cousin. 

“ Come back as soon as you can conveniently, Net, and 
bring the children, and settle down here for the win- 
ter ; it is much warmer here than in far Cumberland.” 

“Yes, I will come back and bring the little ones.” 

“And do not be uneasy about me. Net — I am going to 
get well,'" said Antoinette, brightly. 

“Heaven grant that you may, my dear.” 

“ Look at the clock. Net, I do not want to make you 
lose the train. What is the hour ?” 

“ It is ten minutes past six,” answered Net, after 
glancing at the time-piece on the mantel-shelf. 

“And the carriage was ordered for six. You must 
go, dear. Kiss me good-bye.” 

And so they parted. 

She hurried down stairs and out to the carriage, 
where now Adrian Fleming was anxiously awaiting 
her. 





CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE ARRAIGNMENT. 

It often falls, in course of common life. 

That right, long time, is overborne by wrong. 

Through avarice, or power, or guile, or strife. 

That weakens her and makes opponent strong ; 

But Justice, though her doom she do prolong. 

Yet at the last she will her own cause right. 

Spenser. 

On the same Monday morning that 'witnessed the 
departure of the Flemings from Deloraine Park, the 
little town of Yockley was in an unusual commotion. 

The assizes were to be opened that day. 

The judges would enter the town at an early hour, 
and the great trial of the Crown vs. Valdimir Desp^rde, 
indicted for murder, was the first case on the docket. 

The news of this impending trial, scattered broadcast 
through the country, had attracted a multitude of peo- 
ple to the scene. 

Mrs. Perkins, Miss Mossop and Mr. Nott had arrived 

[339] 


340 


BEANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


from London, and were accommodated at a lodging- 
house within a stone’s throw of the Guild Hall. 

Mr. Michael McDermott and Mr. Alexander Mc- 
Quilligan had also arrived, and were at the “ Crown and 
Sceptre.” 

Net Fleming would certainly be on time — that they 
knew. 

Even the photographs of the absent and the dead had 
been procured from the Miston photographer for iden- 
tification by the witnesses. 

Everything was arranged, down to the smallest 
detail, when at ten o’clock, the sheriff himself appeared 
at the cell door and intimated that he would conduct 
Mr. Desparde to the court- room. 

The carriage containing our party rolled into the 
back gate and up to the back door, unsuspected and 
unmolested. 

The prisoner’s entrance had been managed so quietly 
that no one suspected his identity, or noticed him in 
any way. 

The business of the trial was begun. 

The jury was impaneled from the crowd in the 
court-room, and in a very short time, and then the 
prisoner was arraigned after the usual formula. 

Thomas Potter, guard on the London and North- 
western Railway train, was duly sworn. 

He was severely cross-examined by the counsel for 
the defense, and especially as to the indentity of Mr. 
Valdimir Desparde with the person who had engaged 
the Observed compartment. 

But he was obstinately certain upon that point. 

Being “ cornered,” however, he admitted that he had 
not recognized Mr. Desparde at Paddington, or, in fact 
at any subsequent station, until the train reached the 
Grand Junction, where he saw Mr. Desparde’s face 


THE ARRAIGNMENT. 


341 


quite plainly for the first time ; and that he saw it 
often from that time, until they reached Miston Branch 
Junction, where he missed him. 

The counsel for the prisoner made a note here. 

The next witness called was Mrs. Jane Bottom, who 
being sworn, testified to the finding of the dead body 
in the railway carriage. 

She was followed by the Misses Ann Jane and Maria 
Bottom, who corroborated her testimony. 

Edward Hetley, railway porter at Yockley station, 
and formerly of Miston, testified to having seen the 
body of the murdered girl, and recognized it as that of 
Christelle Ken. 

Dr. Lowe, of Yockley, testified to having made the 
post-mortem examination and to the cause of death — 
a wound, made by some sharp-pointed instrument, 
through the heart. 

Two of the doctor’s medical assistants corroborated 
his testimony. 

With these witnesses the case for the crown closed. 

The court adjourned, with the understanding that on 
the following morning the senior counsel for the 
prisoner, Mr. Stair, would open for the defense. 

After the court had adjourned the crowd lingered to 
get a view of the prisoner. 

But the sheriff again circumvented them by quietly 
withdrawing Valdimir Desparde through the door on 
the left of the Judges’ bench leading into the sheriff’s 
office, and thence down the stairs to the back door. 

Lord Beaudevere followed, and they all entered the 
carriage that was in waiting. 

The baron accompanied his kinsman to the prison 
and remained with him in his cell, conversing cheerfully 
on his prospects until the hour came for the closing of 
the doors. 


342 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


Then, with the promise to be on hand early the next 
morning to attend him to the court-room, Lord Beau- 
devere took leave and departed. 

He entered his carriage and drove straight to the 
White Bear Inn, where he had taken up his temporary 
abode, not so much on account of the elegance and 
comfort of the quaint old house, as on that of its prox- 
imity to the prison. 

Just as he stepped into the hou.se, a waiter, who 
seemed to be on the look-out, came up, touched his 
hair, and handed him a small black-edged envelope. 

Lord Beaudevere recognized Vivienne’s hand-writ- 
ing, opened it immediately and read the few lines it 
contained — 

“ Dear Beaue — Don't be angry We are here. Arielle 
would come. I had to attend her. The housekeeper 
and butler, being a staid old couple, are with us in lieu 
of other attendants. We are in numbers 59 and 60. 

“ V.” 

The baron frowned and compressed his lips with 
vexation as he beckoned the waiter who had brought 
him the note. 

“ I suppose I must let them remain here until after 
the trial,” muttered the baron. “ The dare-devils ! I 
had done my utmost to dissuade them to take this step. 
Well ! well ! I must not scold them, for both are as 
deeply concerned as 1 am in the matter which has 
brought me here.” 

The next morning Net made her appearance at the 
hostelry and was effusively greeted by the girls. Net 
was in earnest conversation with the girls, when they 
were interrupted by a knock at the door. 

Net herself went and opened it. 


THE ARRAIGNMENT. 


343 


“ A telegram for Mrs. Fleming/’ said the voice of the 
waiter. 

“ When did this come ?” inquired Net. 

“ Yesterday afternoon, ma’am. It has been waiting 
in the office for you ever since,” replied the waiter. 

Net closed the door and opened the telegram. Then 
she dropped down upon the nearest chair, with a face 
blanched to marble. 

The telegram was as follows : 

“ Deloraine Park, December the — , 12 o'clock m. Dr. 
Bede to Mrs. Adrian Fleming, White Bear Inn, Yock- 
ley, Cumberland : Miss Deloraine died at 7:15 a. m.” 

“ What is it ? A telegram did he say ? Does it relate 
to the witnesses for the trial ?” inquired Arielle, step- 
ping out of bed to join her friend. “ Why, Net, you are 
as white as a ghost ! What is it ?” 

“It is — a telegram from — Antoinette’s medical at- 
tendant — Dr. Bede. She is — there has been — a change,” 
stammered Net, with quivering lips and brimming 
eyes. , 

“Antoinette has gone! She has changed this world 
for the next !” exclaimed Arielle, in an awe-struck tone. 
“ You will not go back this morning V 

“ No, it would be of no use to her for me to go, since 
she is gone ; even if I were at liberty to do so, which I 
am not. I am subpoenaed as a witness on this trial, you 
know,” gently replied Net. 

“ Yes, and your evidence is of vital importance to 
Valdimir.” 

“ But, of course, I must return to Deloraine Park, 
just as soon as I am free to do so,” replied Net, strug- 
gling hard to keep back the tears that sprang to her 
eyes. 


344 


BKANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


She had seen so much of death in her short life — her 
father, her mother, her step-father, her friends and 
relatives had dropped fast around her. In truth. Net 
needed all her Christian faith to support her spirit — 
needed every day to pray for faith and hope to sustain 
her wounded and suffering love. 

At this moment Vivienne came out of the bathroom, 
dressed for the day. 

She greeted Net with a kiss, ascribed her pale face to 
the fatigue of her night’s journey, and inquired how 
she had left Antoinette. 

Then they told her the truth. 

Vivienne was deeply shocked and grieved, though 
indeed she had been for some days past expecting to 
hear the sad news which had just reached them. 

The clock struck nine and warned the three young 
women that they must make themselves ready to attend 
the court, which was to meet within an hour. 

Net Fleming withdrew to the room engaged for her- 
self, to make her clean toilet for the breakfast table and 
later for the witness-stand. 

Vivienne went into the parlor to communicate the 
news of Antoinette’s death to Lord Beaudevere. 

Half an hour later they all met around the board in 
Lady Arielle’s private sitting-room, w^here the Flem- 
ings had been invited to join their friends at breakfast. 

“ I am very glad you have come, Fleming,” said the 
baron, cheerfully ; “ for I w^as rather embarrassed with 
the presence of these two young ladies. Not expecting 
to find them here, I had promised Valdimir to go with 
him to the court, and but for your timely arrival I should 
have had to disappoint him, and I should not like to 
have done that, I assure you. Now, however, you can 
take charge of these girls and leave me to attend my 
kinsman.” 


THE ARRAIGNMENT. 


845 


“ I shall be most happy to be useful,” replied Mr. 
Fleming, with a grave bow, for he was still very much 
affected by the news of Antoinette’s departure. 

“ You will have to get a second carriage, and, mind, 
drive to the Orchard street entrance, where I will take 
you all up through the sheriff’s office to seats near the. 
bench,” concluded the baron, as they arose from the 
table. 

The young ladies retired to put on their bonnets and 
the gentlemen went down to see to the carriages, that 
they might be well aired and comfortable — for the day 
was a raw, damp, cold one. 

A few minutes later two carriages were drawn up 
before the door. 

Beaue, with courtly grace, put the three young ladies 
in one of them, and, turning, said to Mr. Fleming : 

“You had better drive at once to the Guild Hall. 
Enter by the Orchard street gate, as I advised you, and 
wait at the rear door until I come up. I have to go 
first to the prison ; but it is not far, and I shall not be 
more than ten or fifteen minutes behind you.” 

Fleming bowed, entered the carriage, and seated him- 
self beside Net. 

The baron entered the second carriage. 

And then both vehicles drove out of the inn yard and 
separated, the one taking its way to the prison, the 
other to the court-house. 

The distance to the prison was very short. 

Lord Beaudevere found his kinsman and the sheriff 
already down in the hall on the ground floor. 

Immediately after the morning salutations they all 
three entered the carriage to drive to the Guild Hall. 

As they went on, the baron delighted his young kins- 
man with the news that his sister and his betrothed had 
arrived in town. 



CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE VERDICT. 

The shadow of this woe will pass away, 

Then will commence his high career, 

He will rise up to it and make all possible, 

The glory and the grandeur of each dream 
And every aspiration be fulfilled. 

Robert Browning. 

The carriage containing Lady Arielle Montjoie, Mr. 
and Mrs. Fleming and Miss Desparde was the first to 
reach the hall. 

The court-room was, if possible, even more crowded 
than it had been on the preceding day, the first of the 
trial. 

Mr. Stair, the senior counsel for the prisoner, was 
already on his feet, opening the case for the defense. 

He began by giving a slight sketch of his client, 
whom he said was well known to most persons present, 
and well-beloved and esteemed by all who knew. 

He then told the story of Valdimir Desparde’s move- 
ments from the moment of his landing at Southampton 
on that fatal day of December to the moment of his 
arrest at Miston, and proposed to account for every 
• [346J 


THE VERDICT. 


347 


instant of his time during that interval, and to prove by 
a host of competent witnesses that it was utterly im- 
possible for him to have been the murderer of Christelle 
Ken, or to have been anywhere near the scene of the 
murder at the time of its perpetration. 

He next told the story of the murder as he held, and 
proposed to prove, that it had occurred, and to support 
this theory he called — 

“ Mrs. Antoinette Fleming.” 

Net came forward and took the stand ; and being 
duly sworn, she testified that the deceased, Christelle 
Ken, had been well known to her for several years. 

And then, in answer to the questions of the counsel, 
she gave a full and particular history of poor Kit’s 
acquaintance with Brandon Coyle and the circumstances 
that led her to the suspicion that Kit had been abducted 
or persuaded away by him ; and then was offered the 
posthumous letter of poor Kit in evidence. It was read 
and it made a very great impression on all who heard it. 

Then was offered the letter of Mrs, Perkins, which 
was also read with scarcely less effect. 

Net was cross-examined by the counsel for the crown. 

“ Have you ever seen the prisoner at the bar in com- 
pany with the deceased ?” 

Never,” answered Net. 

“ Have you any reason to believe that he had been 
intimate with her ?” 

“ None whatever ! I do not think Mr. Desparde even 
knew the girl Kit Ken, either by name or by sight.” 

“ Had the deceased other followers 

“ None whatever ; not one, except Brandon Coyle.” 

The direct examination was then resumed, and Net 
told of Kit’s former letter submitted to her by Lady 
Arielle Montjoie, and of the scene at the reading of the 
late Earl of Altofaire’s will. 


348 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


She was then allowed to retire, and the next witness 
was called. 

“Mrs. Martha Curry.” 

This was the housekeeper at Castle Montjoie — a little 
dark-skinned, black-eyed woman of about fifty years of 
age. 

She corroborated the testimony of the last witness 
in regard to the scene in the dining-room at Castfe 
Montjoie on the reading of the late earl’s will. She 
also described the rage of Coyle, and his threats of 
vengeance against Kit Ken. This scene occurred, 
she said, on the — of December — the day before the 
murder. 

Tobias Curry, husband of the last witness, and butler 
at Castle Montjoie, corroborated the testimony of his 
wife. 

“ Mrs. Prudence Perkins ” was next called. 

This woman, it will be remembered, was the land- 
lady of the lodging-house in Church Lane, Chelsea. 

She was shown the photographs of Brandon Coyle 
and Kit Ken, and she identified them as portraits of 
her two lodgers, whom she had known as Mr. and Mrs. 
Coyle. 

She gave a narrative of their arrival and sojourn at 
her house, and of their departure on the afternoon of 
the — day of December, preceding the night of the 
murder. 

On being shown the letter purporting to have been 
written by herself to Mrs. Fleming, she identified it as 
her own. She indentified the inclosed letter as the 
one intrusted to her by poor Kit to be sent to Mrs. 
Fleming in the event already mentioned. 

She also testified to the suspicion and anxiety that 
troubled the poor girl lest her “ husband ” should do 
her a mischief on the journey, though her fears pointed 


THE VERDICT. 


349 


rather to being betrayed into a private mad-house than 
to murder. 

Mrs. Perkins’ testimony suffered nothing in the 
cross-examination that followed. 

“ Mary Mossop !” 

The maid-of-all-work at the Church Lane lodging- 
house took the stand, corroborated the last witness’s 
testimony, and identified the photographs as likenesses 
of her mistress’s lodgers, Mr. and Mrs. Coyle. 

“ John Nott !” 

The cabman from Chelsea took the stand and testi- 
fied to having driven Mr. and Mrs. Coyle from Church 
Lane to Paddington Station on the afternoon of the — 
day of December, and to having been present when 
Mr. Coyle engaged the middle compartment of car- 
riage 2, B, on the London and Northwestern train for 
himself and his wife, and to having seen them both get 
into it just before the train started. 

Being shown the two photographs he identified them 
as the portraits of the parties he had, on the afternoon 
of the — day of December, taken from Church Lane to 
Paddington and seen enter the reserved compartment 
in carriage 2, B, and who were known to him as Mr. 
and Mrs. Coyle. 

He was slightly cross-examined without effect, and 
then permitted to withdraw. 

“ Charles Smithers !” 

This witness was the ticket agent at Paddington. 

He swore to having been on duty at the window at the 
Paddington Station on the — of December, and to hav- 
ing sold tickets for a reserved compartment in railway 
carriage 2, B, on the London and Northwestern railway 
train that left the station at four p. m. 

“ Witness, look at the prisoner at the bar,” said the 
senior counsel for the defense. 


350 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


Smithers turned and stared at Mr. Desparde, who 
smiled in his face. 

“ Was the prisoner at the bar the party to whom you 
sold the reserved compartment ?” 

“ No, sir ; he was not. I never saw the prisoner 
before in my life,” replied Smithers. 

“ Very well. Now look at these photographs. Did 
you ever see the originals of them before ?” inquired 
Counselor Stair, passing the cards of Coyle and Kit 
Ken to the man, who took and looked at them atten- 
tively, and then replied : 

“ Yes, sir. These are the likenesses of the man and 
woman who took the reserved compartment of carriage 
2, B, on the London and Northwestern Railroad on the 
afternoon of that — day of December.” 

The witness was more closely questioned, but his tes- 
timony only established beyond all doubt that it was 
Brandon Coyle and not Valdimir Desparde who engaged 
the reserved compartment on the train in which his 
companion was afterwards a few hours later found 
murdered. 

“John Gretterex !” 

A portly, red-faced man of about forty years of age 
took the stand, and testified to knowing Mr. Brandon 
Coyle by sight, and by name, and to having seen him 
leave the middle compartment of railway carriage 2, B, 
at midnight, December the — , at the Grand Junction 
Station, and having seen him get upon the train for 
Southampton. 

“John Kent !” was next called. 

This witness testified that he knew Mr. Brandon Coyle 
and that he traveled with him from the Grand Junction 
to Southampton on the early morning of December the 
— , and afterwards saw him embark on a steamer — the 
Montana — for New York. 


THE VERDICT. 


351 


“ Michael McDermott !” 

A rudd^'-faced young Irish gentleman took the stand 
and testified to having ridden in the same carriage with 
Mr. Valdimir Desparde from Southampton to Peter- 
boro on the — day of December, instant. 

“ Alexander McQuilligaii !” 

A tall, gaunt, sanguine-hued and red-haired Scotch- 
man, took the stand and testified to having ridden in the 
same carriage with the prisoner at the bar, on the train 
from Peterboro to the Grand Junction, where he got off, 
on the night of December — . 

This was the last witness examined for the defense. 

There was no rebutting testimony introduced. 

Mr. Turner reviewed the evidence and claimed that 
the defense had disproved all the charges of the crown 
and had proved the innocence of their client. 

The Lord Chief Baron Belair summed up very briefly, 
saying that so clear a case needed no elucidation from 
him, and that he could safely leave it as the testimony 
left it — in the hands of an intelligent and impartial jury. 

The jury consulted in their box, and, without leaving 
the court-room, returned a verdict of — 

“ Not Guilty !” 

This verdict was received with acclamations. 

Friends and acquaintances came around the vindi- 
cated man with warm congratulations. 

The crowd in the court -room raised a shout that 
seemed to threaten to lift the roof. 

The news spread outside, and the hurrahs of the 
assembled multitude rent the air. 

The officers of the court did not attempt to preserve 
order on this occasion. 

The judges came down from the bench and shook 
hands with Mr. Desparde and his immediate friends. 
So did the queen’s counsel, Parker, and his assistants. 


352 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


And through all this the shouts and hurrahs of the 
people rose to heaven. 

Never in this world was there a more triumphant vin- 
dication. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

VICTORY. 

And thus, from the sad years of life. 

We sometimes do sho/t hours, yea, minutes strike. 
Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten ; 

Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'er past. 
Shine like the sunny spots on a wild waste. 

Baillie. 

Wise Heaven doth see it just as fit 
In all our joys to give us some alloys. 

As in our sorrows, comforts ; when our sails 
Are filled with happiest winds, then we most need 
Some heaviness to ballast us. Fountain. 

When the judges and the officers of the law had with- 
drawn', and the huzzas of the crowd, inside and outside 
the court-house, had subsided, Valdimir Desparde and 
his friends retired through the sheriff’s room and down 
the rear stairs to the Orchard street entrance, where the 
two carriages awaited them. 

During the excitement in the court-room he found no 
opportunity of approaching his betrothed or her com- 
panions, though he was most impatient to do so. 

Lord Beaudevere then whispered to him : 

“ I will take Arielle down stairs and put her in the 
carriage. You can join her there, and no one else shall 


VICTORY. 


353 


intrude upon you. I will go with Vivienne and the 
Flemings in the other carriage.” 

Valdimir pressed his hand in silent acquiescence, and 
then the baron led Lad)?’ Arielle out of the still densely- 
crowded court-room and down stairs to the back 
entrance, and put her into one of the carriages, whisper- 
ing, as he closed the door : 

“ Valdimir will join you here in a very few moments.” 

And almost as he spoke Valdimir Desparde came up. 

Lord Beaudevere, with a smile, gave way, and the 
young man entered the carriage and seated himself 
beside his betrothed. 

Lord Beaudevere gave the coachman his orders to 
drive to the White Bear Inn, and then went to join the 
other members of his party who were seated in the 
other vehicle. 

Both carriages started, that of the young lovers tak- 
ing the precedence. 

As soon as the betrothed pair found themselves alone 
together, Valdimir lifted the hand of Arielle and 
pressed it warmly to his lips and to his heart. 

Tears of joy stood in his eyes. 

Neither could speak, but their silence was more 
eloquent than any words could have been. 

After a short drive, our party stopped at the inn. 

Arielle had already laid off her hat and mantle, and 
was seated on a short, hard, horse-hair sofa, in the 
parlor, with Valdimir by her side. 

After a few pleasant words, Lord Beaudevere drew 
Adrian Fleming’s arm within his own and took him 
out, ostensibly to see the landlord in person as to the 
condition of his larder, but really to leave the lovers to 
themselves for a little while ; for Vivienne and Net 
had already gone to their chambers to lay off their hats 
and coats. 


354 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


Only “ for a little while ” could the one private parlor 
in the crowded inn be left to the young lovers. 

Very soon they were disturbed by the entrance of 
the waiter to lay the cloth for dinner. 

When he went out the two young ladies, Net and 
Vivienne, came in. 

Then, for the first time since the verdict, the brother 
and sister met, and embraced with so much emotion that 
scarcely an articulate word could be uttered between 
them. 

Vivienne presented her brother to Net Fleming, 
whom he had not seen since his arrival in the country. 

Mutual and hearty congratulations passed between 
them. 

Net expressed her joy in his triumphal vindication, 
which she declared to be equal to a public ovation. 

Valdimir returned thanks and wished her much joy 
in her married life. 

“And to think,” he added, in his total ignorance of 
the circumstances of that marriage, “ to think that Sly 
Boots, Adrian Fleming, never told me a word about it 
when we met in New York, never even dropped a hint 
of it !” 

At this moment the gentleman of whom they were 
speaking entered the room. 

More congratulations followed, with more or less 
sincerity, between Messrs. Desparde and Fleming. 

Dinner was served, and six of the hungriest people 
in the town sat down to one of the best repasts ever 
laid there. 

And they lingered long over its three courses and 
longer over the dessert. 

It was ten o’clock before the last cloth was drawn 
and the coffee served. 

While they were sipping this fragrant beverage the 


VICTORY. 355 

voice of the indefatigable and ubiquitous newsboy was 
heard under the windows yelling : 

“ ' Ere' s yer Evening Noose — -full account of the trial — 
Muster V liable Despatch, and werdick for the 'cused. ' Ere's 
yer — " 

Lord Beaudevere arose and rang the bell. 

A waiter entered in answer to the summons. 

“ Go down and bring me a paper,” said the baron. 

A few moments later the waiter entered the room 
with the paper and handed it to the baron, 

“ What an exaggeration ! Why, Valdimir, they have 
got it here that your horses were taken off and your 
carriage was drawn through the streets by relays of 
men, followed by a multitude of citizens. Ha ! what 
is this } Here is news !” continued the baron, as his 
eyes glanced to other parts of the paper. 

• “ What is it V' inquired Valdimir Desparde. 

” I will read it,” answered Lord Beaudevere, and he 
began as follows : 

‘‘ ‘ THE ASSASSIN OF CHRISTELLE KEN. 

“ ‘ There is not a shadow of a doubt on the minds of 
any who heard the evidence on the trial of Mr. Valdi- 
mir Desparde, (whose honor has been vindicated amid 
such thunders of applause as never yet attended the 
acquittal of any person) that the murderer of poor 
Christelle Ken, was no other than Brandon Coyle, of 
Caveland, Miston. Some dark stories have been afloat 
in regard to that gentleman, by which it appears that 
homicidal mania may be hereditary in his family. An 
officer armed with the necessary warrants has gone 
down to Liverpool, and will sail to-morrow morning for 
New York in quest of Mr. Brandon Coyle, who has es- 
caped to the United States, but it is hoped will be 
found and brought back under the extradition treaty to 


356 


BRANDON COTLE’s WIFE. 


answer for the crime for which Mr. Desparde has been 
so unjustly accused, and of which he has been so tri- 
umphantly acquitted.' 

“ There, that’s it ! They are prompt. They lose no 
time — these law officers. But I am grieved for Coyle — 
my poor, old neighbor. Ah ! he hatched a couple of 
cockatrice’s eggs when he took those two Simses to his 
home !” sighed the baron. 

“ But poor Aspirita is not to blame for all this,” said 
Net, in a tone of compassion. 

“ Humph !” said the baron, dryly. “ She is too much 
like her brother in everything to engage my sympa- 
thies. You do not know perhaps, my dear, that she 
was his confederate in the transmission of those forged 
letters, that deceived and misled both Valdimir and 
Arielle, and but for providential agencies would have 
resulted in severing them forever.” 

“ I knew of the letter purporting to come from Mr. 
Desparde to Mr. Coyle, giving a 77tesalliance as the motive 
of his sudden journey to New York, but I thought that 
Aspirita herself must have been also deceived when 
she inclosed it to Arielle,” replied Net. 

” No. Subsequent events proved that she was his 
confederate ; for about the same time a forged letter, 
purporting to have been from Arielle to her — Aspirita 
— announcing Arielle’s engagement to be married to a 
gentleman approved by her grandparents, was inclosed 
by Brandon Coyle to Valdimir Desparde. The brother 
could not have done all this without the assistance of 
his sister. She was his confederate in everything 
except in the murder of poor Kit Ken.” 

When the clock struck eleven they separated and 
retired to rest. 

The following morning, the members of our party 


AT DELORAINE PARK. 


357 


rose early, and when the hurried morning meal was 
over they hastily assumed their outer garments and 
went out to take their places in the hacks. 

A short and pleasant ride through the crisp winter 
air and over the frosty ground took them to the Mistoii 
Branch Station, where the party separated — Lord 
Beaudevere, Lady Arielle Montjoie, Mr. and Miss 
Desparde leaving the carriage to take the Miston train, 
and Mr. and Mrs. Adrian Fleming continuing their 
journey to London en route for Devonshire. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

AT DELORAINE PARK. 

Softly 

She is lying 

With her lips apart, 

Softly, 

While you’re sighing 
With a smitten heart. 

Gently 

She is sleeping — 

She has breathed her last ; 

Gently, 

While you’re weeping, 

She to heaven has passed. 

C. G. Eastman. 

Mr. and Mrs. Adrian Fleming reached London late 
in the afternoon, and had only time to take a luncheon 
before getting their seats on the Southwestern train. 
They traveled all night, and about seven o’clock the 
next morning they reached Deloraine Station. 


358 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


They found the Deloraine carriage waiting for tnem. 

“ Ah, Beckwith ! You got the telegram, then ?” said 
Mr. Fleming, as the coachman touched his hat. 

“ Yes, sir,” replied the man, repeating his gesture of 
respect. 

The young footman, Harry Hart, opened the carriage 
door to admit his new mistress and master ; then 
handed in the portmanteaus, closed the door again and 
sprang up behind. 

The carriage drove off, taking its way towards the 
village and through the main street. 

They drew up at the Deloraine Arms, where the 
swinging sign was swathed in back. 

Here Adrain ordered coffee and muffins, which were 
brought to the carriage, where he and Net partook of 
them. 

Then they continued their way through the village, 
where every house was closed and hung in mourning. 

The carriage passed through the gates and wound its 
way along the road leading through the park up to the 
hall. 

The footman sprang down and rang the bell, and the 
door was opened to receive the new mistress at the 
moment her husband handed her from the carriage. 

The footman, going before, led the way up stairs and 
threw open the door of the drawing-room. 

But Net did not go there. She passed on to the 
rooms that had been appropriated to her private use, 
while she had been staying at the hall, and she shut 
herself in alone and rang for the housekeeper. 

Nelly, the maid, answered the bell. 

“ I want Mrs. Koffy,” said Net, who was too much 
agitated to remember her usually considerate and 
courteous manner to all— even the humblest with whom 
she might be brought intp contact. 


AT DELORAINE PARK. 


359 


The girl went out and in a few moments Mrs. Koffy 
came in. 

At the sight of her new mistress she threw her black 
silk apron over her head and began to sob and cry. 

“ Sit down and try to compose yourself. I wish you 
to tell me some particulars of your young lady’s last 
hours." 

Amidst tears and lamentations the housekeeper com- 
plied and gave as coherent an account of the sad event 
as it was possible for her to do. 

The good domestic then finished her recital with the 
interrogation : 

“ That is all, ma’am. Would you like to see her ?" 

“ Yes," said Net, with an irrepressible sigh. 

The housekeeper arose to lead the way. 

Net also arose and took off her bonnet and mantle to 
follow the woman, who conducted her to the boudoir 
where poor Antoinette Deloraine had passed the last 
days of her life, and where everything was now in the 
most perfect order. Thence they passed into the bed- 
chamber, where, on the rose-colored silk and lace 
draped bed and under the rosy silk and lace tent-like 
canopy, lay, like the fair, waxen image of a beautiful 
maiden, the form of Antoinette Deloraine. 

Nurse Knollis was moving softly about the room, re- 
placing faded flowers with fresh ones. She courtesied 
to Mrs. Fleming, and then,, having completed her task, 
she withdrew. 

“ You may also go, Mrs. Koffy. I wish to remain 
here alone, if you please," said Net, taking her seat 
beside the bed. 

“ Now don’t you go to be taking on, my dear young 
lady ; you will just be making yourself ill for nothing," 
expostulated the housekeeper, who mistook the motives 
of her mistress. 


360 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


“ I ! Oh, no, I should not do so, here of all places,” 
quietly replied Net. The housekeeper withdrew and 
left Net alone in the sphere of ineffable peace which 
surrounds those who have recently fallen asleep in the 
Lord. 

Net felt this and soon lost herself in a benign repose 
that lasted she knew not how long, but until she was 
aroused by a rapping at the door, followed by the en- 
trance of the housekeeper, who said : 

“ If you please, ma’am, the master is asking for you, 
and luncheon is on the table.” 

Net arose, pressed her lips upon the ivory brow of the 
beautiful sleeper, covered the face again with its lace 
handkerchief, and withdrew from the chamber. 

“ The luncheon is spread in the large breakfast room 
below, madam. You will find Hart in the hall, who will 
show you the way,” said Mrs. Koffy, as she left her mis- 
tress at the head of the main stairway, and turned to go 
down by the back steps. 

Net went down and was duly shown by young Hart 
to the breakfast parlor, where she found the lunch table 
laid and several gentlemen besides her husband assem- 
bled. 

They were all strangers to her ; and Mr. Fleming pro - 
ceeded to introduce them. 

“ My wife, Mrs. Adrian Fleming, gentlemen ! — My 
dear, the Rev. Mr. Deering, Rector of St. Andrew’s 
church, Deloraine ; Dr. Bede ; Mr. Philip Frodisham.” 

The gentlemen bowed, the lady bowed, and they all 
sat down to the table. 

The luncheon passed off agreeably, but very gravely. 

After it was over, Mr. Frodisham requested an inter- 
view with Mrs. Fleming, who led him into a little par- 
lor on the same floor. 

Mr. Frodisham was a venerable, hale old gentleman 


AT DELORAINE PARK. 


361 


of not less than seventy years, with a robust and 
upright form, a healthy, rosy face and a fine, stately 
gray head. He was the senior partner of the firm of 
Frodisham Brothers, who had had charge of the Delo- 
raine estate for three generations of that short-lived 
family. 

“ My dear Mrs. Fleming, first of all I wish to express 
to you my warm admiration of the magnanimity with 
which you have acted towards your deceased cousin. 
You might have enriched yourself by dispossessing her, 
and the legal and moral right to do so was undoubtedly 
yours, and yet you forebore to do it ! You permitted 
your unfortunate cousin to live and to die in the happy 
delusion that she was the legitimate daughter of the 
late Alfred Deloraine, and the legal heiress of Delo- 
raine Park — ’* 

‘‘As she ought in justice to have been, Mr. Frod- 
isham ; I may have had the legal right to dispossess 
Antoinette, but assuredly I had not the moral right to 
do so. I could not have done so, indeed ! And I am 
very glad and thankful that my dear Antoinette never 
suspected the misfortune that might have overwhelmed 
her reason had she learned it,” said Net. 

“ You are a very rare and magnanimous young lady. 
I must tell you that before you go any farther. Now 
we must discuss business,” said the attorney. 

And he asked Net’s instruction upon certain points 
to be attended to immediately ; among them the 
details for the management of Antoinette Deloraine’s 
funeral. 

Net referred him to Mr.' Fleming and to the rector. 
And so the interview ended. 

The funeral was arranged to take place on that day 
week. 

Letters were written to the few relatives of the 


362 


BRANDON Coyle's wife. 


Deloraine family that were left alive, and also to Sir 
Adrian and Lady Fleming, inviting them to attend the 
obsequies. 

Not one from a distance responded in person, except 
the baronet, who arrived at Deloraine Park on the 
morning of the day set for the funeral. 

Adrian Fleming had just gone out for a stroll 
through the park. The baronet was welcomed by 
his daughter-in-law, in the little reception-room on the 
first floor. 

“ Well, Saucebox !” was Sir Adrian’s greeting to Net. 
“ How are those little bones of contention, the children ? 
I dare say you have come to your senses and got rid of 
them before this !” 

“ The children are well, Sir Adrian, and are still 
under my guardianship,” gently replied Net. 

“ You do not mean to say that you have got them 
here, in this house !” exclaimed the old gentleman. 

“ Not just at present. I left them at Castle Montjoie, 
in the care of the countess, while I came to attend my 
coUvSin,” said Net, with a slight smile. 

“ At — Castle Montjoie ! — with the young countess ! — 
those children ! ! !” exclaimed the baronet, staring. 

“ Yes, Sir Adrian. Every one has not the same aver- 
sion to children that you and Lady Fleming profess to 
have,” answered Net. 

“ Well ! They will not probably remain for the rest 
of their natural lives at Castle Montjoie. What do you 
intend to do with them afterwards ?” 

“ I wish to bring them here ; but — ” 

“Your husband will never consent to that absurd 
measure — never, if I know him !” interrupted the 
baronet. 

Net made no reply. Her eyes sank beneath the 
hard, steady stare of the old man. 


AT D12L0KAINE PARK. 


363 


“ What will you do in that case ?” he demanded, with- 
out withdrawing his gaze. 

A look of care and trouble crossed the gentle face of 
little mammam for a moment, and then passed off, as 
she said : 

“ I will ‘ take no thought of the morrow,’ but ‘ let the 
morrow take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient 
unto the day is the evil thereof.’ Sir Adrian, but for 
that text I should have passed many a sleepless night 
in the course of my troubled life.” 

“ There — we won’t argue — I am going to get some of 
this railroad dust out of my eyes ! Where is your hus- 
band ?” suddenly demanded the baronet. 

‘‘ He has walked out. I expect him in every minute,” 
replied Net. 

“ Tired of the house, I suppose. Never could bear 
confinement or solemnity. Both together too much for 
him. Well, I am going to my room. I suppose you 
have one ready for me ?” 

“ Oh, yes. Sir Adrian, and Hart will show you to it.” 

“ Well, I am going now to see if I can turn myself 
back again from a blackamoor to a white man, as I 
used to be. And then I shall want something to eat. 
When will lunch be ready ?” 

“ As soon as you shall be ready for it, Sir Adrian.” 

With that answer from Net the baronet strode out of 
the room and was taken possession of by Hart, who con- 
ducted him to his chamber, where he found his valet 
already installed and employed in opening his dressing- 
case and portmanteau and laying out their contents. 

Net in the meantime hastened to the housekeeper and 
directed her to have something hot and appetizing for 
her exacting father-in-law. 

Coming up from the consultation with Mrs. Koffy, 
Net met Adrian returning from his walk. 


864 


BRANDON COYLE'S WIFE. 


“ Your father has just arrived,” she said. 

“ Ah ! Where is the old man ?” he demanded, with 
pleasure in his eyes, because, with all his failings he^ 
loved his father. 

“ He has gone up to his room. The blue room next 
beyond yours,” answered Net. 

Adrian bounded upstairs, taking three steps at a jump 
and was soon out of sight. 

Half an hour later the baronet, his son and daughter- 
in-law sat down to a dainty repast in the little dining- 
room on the first floor. 

Soon after this the funeral guests began to assemble. 

All the county families in the vicinity of Deloraine 
Park came to pay their last tribute of respect to the 
youngest, fairest and last of the Deloraines. 

The funeral took place in the afternoon. The remains 
were conveyed to St Andrew’s Church, at the head of 
the hall lane and at the upper end of the village. This 
church had been founded five centuries before by one 
of the earlier ancestors of the house of Deloraine, and 
the family vault was under the chancel. 

The procession of carriages that followed the hearse 
extended nearly from the lodge gates to the church 
door, where the coffin was met by the rector. 

The service consisted of the solemn and beautiful 
ritual of the Church of England. 

At its close the mortal remains of Antoinette Delo- 
raine were deposited in the crypt below the altar. 

All the carriages then dispersed to their various des- 
tinations. Only those of the limited household returned 
to Deloraine Hall, where dinner awaited them. 

The departed girl had been a minor, incapable of 
making a will, so that there was no after ceremony of 
opening and reading such a document to be performed. 


AT DELORAINE PARK. 


365 


Net Fleming was the heiress-at-law and came into 
immediate possession. 

After dinner there remained in the house only Sir 
Adrian, who was to spend the night at the hall, and Mr. 
and Mrs. Fleming, who were to make it their permanent 
home. 

It happened that some time after dinner Net went up 
to her dressing-room to bathe her head, which was ach- 
ing and burning from long-continued fatigue and ex- 
citement. Now her dressing-room joined that of the 
old baronet, back to back, so that the same branch of 
pipes supplied both wash-stands with water. Only a 
thin partition separated them. 

As Net stood bathing her head over the wash-basin 
she heard voices in the next room. At first she paid no 
attention, and so did not recognize them. They — the 
voices — might have belonged to the housemaid and 
valet for aught she knew or cared. 

But presently she recognized the voices as those of 
her husband and her father-in-law ; but still she did 
not listen, and therefore did not hear the purport of 
their conversation, until suddenly some words uttered 
by her husband struck her ear — ay ! and struck her 
heart, nearly paralyzing her where she stood. She could 
not move ; she could not speak ; she could scarcely 
breathe, while she was compelled to listen. 

And what were these words that smote all color from 
her cheeks, all light from her eyes, nearly all life from 
her frame ? 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS. 

Yes, on the dull silence breaking 
With a lightning’s flash — a word, 

Bearing endless desolation 
On its blighting wings, she heard. 

Earth can forge no keener weapon 
Dealing surer death and pain. 

Shall the cruel echo answer 
Through long years of pain ? 

A. A. Proctor. 

• 

“ Oh, no, father !” exclaimed Adrian Fleming, with 
a laugh that sounded so utterly heartless, under the 
circumstances. Oh, no ! you need not warn me ! 
There is no danger of my being burdened with those 
imps ! I do not intend to let my wife bring those chil- 
dren into this house ! I have fully made up my mind on 
that subject. I have -my own plans in regard, to the 
parson’s orphans, and I mean to carry them out at once, 
without consulting ‘ Mistress Net.’ It saves a world of 
trouble to act, instead of to talk !” 

“ So it does ! I am glad to hear you say it ! That is 
right, my boy ! Do you be master ! Your wife has 
been her own mistress so long that she has acquired a 
very strong will ; but you must break it if you wish to 
[366J 


THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS. 


367 


rule in your home, as you should do. This will be your 
home, of course ?” added the baronet, half interroga- 
tively. 

“ Yes, in its season, and the town house on West- 
bourne Terrace, during the London season.” 

“ Ah, to be sure ! And it is a very good thing you 
have got them, else I do not know how you would have 
managed — had to come to Fleming Chase, perhaps, and 
that might have been awkward. There never was a 
house yet large enough for two families.” 

“ No,” assented Adrian. 

“ But mind you, my boy, do not, because this fine estate 
is your wife’s inheritance, and not yours, fall into the 
lamentable weakness of becoming a mere cipher in 
your own house. You must assert yourself as master, 
and one of your first acts of authority should be to pack 
those children off to the alms-house, if she objects to 
the Clerical Orphan’s Home for them,” said Sir Adrian, 
decisively. 

“ I shall place them in the Orphan’s Home myself, 
before a week is over their heads, and I shall not take 
the trouble to consult Mrs. Adrian Fleming on the 
subject. I shall take her by surprise, with the deed 
accomplished,” replied the young man, with a laugh 
that sounded, ah ! how harshly and cruelly to the 
wounded ears and heart of the listening woman. 

“ And now, mind you, keep to that resolution. Don’t 
be persuaded out of it.”" 

“ I tell you I shall not consult her ; how, then, should 
she have the opportunity of trying to persuade me out 
of it ?” inquired Adrian, somewhat impatiently. 

“ After it is all over, when she finds out how you 
have disposed of the children, you will have some 
difficulty with your wife. You will have to meet oppo- 


368 BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 

4 

sition, arguments, pleadings, tears, hysterics, Lord 
knows what !” 

“ I shall know how to meet them !” laughed the 
young man. 

‘‘ That is right ! Don’t you yield a jot ! If you 
should feel tempted for an instant to do so, just take 
time to consider what a burden those children would 
be to you. And how that burden would increase with 
years — growing heavier and heavier every year. Now 
it would be a nurse-maid and nursery governess to be 
maintained as well as the children ; then in a few years 
a tutor and a governess ; then private masters for the 
girl, and Eton and Oxford for the boy ; then a commis- 
sion or a profession for him and a marriage portion for 
her.” 

“A formidable array of responsibilities,” laughed 
Adrian. 

“Yes ! and marrying as early as you and your wife 
have done, you may expect a very large family of your 
own. Think of that ! and send these brats to the alms- 
house at once and be rid of them,” concluded the baro- 
net, as he was heard to walk away. 

“ As I said before, I shall put them in the Orphan’s 
Home before a week is over their heads, and without 
consulting my wife on the subject,” reiterated Adrian 
Fleming, as he followed his father out of the room. 

Then all Net’s strength forsook her and she sank 
down upon the floor and buried her face in her folded 
arms on the cushion of her chair. 

Oh, the hardness, the coldness, the selfishness and 
treachery of the words she had just unwillingly over- 
heard. 

Her bitter anguish was not caused alone by grief for 
the prospective fate of the children, but by shame for 
her husband’s conduct. 


THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS. 


369 


Was this the man she had vowed before Heaven to 
love and honor ? Whom she did devotedly love and 
tried sincerely to honor ? 

Nothing but his own self-convicting words could 
have convinced her that he, Adrian Fleming, could be 
guilty of such baseness as he now proposed. ■ 

In all her former troubles — and she had had her 
share, as we know — she had been enabled by faith to 
“cast ‘ her’ burden on the Lord,’’ and to feel that he 
did “ sustain ’’ her. 

But she would not do so now. She seemed to have 
no strength to raise the burden to cast it anywhere. 
She sank under it and let it settle down upon her like 
the heavy stone of a sepulchre. She could not seek 
comfort in prayer, she could not even find relief in 
tears. 

While she lay there, with her head buried in her 
folded arms on the cushion of her chair, the little 
maid, Cally, came through all the suite of apartments, 
looking for her. mistress, and finally reached the dress- 
ing-room and started back in affright to see the lady 
in that abject position. 

“ Oh, madame ! madame ! Are you ill she cried, 
apprehensively, approaching. 

“ Yes, give me your hand, child,” faintly replied the 
lady, as she endeavored to rise. 

The frightened girl gave both her hands to her mis- 
tress, who got upon her feet, and leaning on her maid, 
walked to the bedroom. 

“ Shall I call Mrs. Koffy, madame inquired Cally. 

“ No, child. Help me to undress, and then you may 
bring me a strong cup of tea. I have a splitting head- 
ache, and must go to bed,” replied Mrs. Fleming, sink- 
ing down into her easy-chair, and putting her feet out 
to the little maid, who knelt to unlace her boots. 


370 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


4 


“ Indeed, I do not wonder, dear madame, with all you 
have gone through this week, traveling backwards 
and forwards from one end of England to t' other, 
between a murder trial there and a funeral here ! 
It is a wonder you have not been down in your bed 
before this, ma’am. I don’t know how you kept up,” 
said Cally, as she put away the boots, and began to take 
down her mistress’s hair and comb and brush it out. 

“ Does it do your head any good, my combing it out 
so, ma’am ?” affectionately inquired the girl. 

“ Yes, but do not linger over it, child ; I am tired and 
I must lie down,” said Net, wearily. 

“ No wonder, indeed,” sighed the little maid, in sym- 
pathy, as she wound up her mistress’s hair and inclosed 
it in a little white silk net. 

A few minutes after, her night toilet being complete, 
Net went to bed, and the little maid brought her a cup 
of tea. 

When Net had drank that, the girl set down the cup 
and then closed the shutters, drew the curtains, mended 
the fire, lowered the light and finally took the tassel of 
the bell-cord and laid it on the bed within reach of her 
mistress, and inquired whether she should sit by her 
until she — her mistress — should fall asleep. 

” No, child, you may go. If I should ring you can 
return to me. In the meantime, if any one should 
inquire for me, say that I have gone to bed and do not 
wish to be disturbed. Do you hear ?” 

“ Yes, madame, and I understand. You shall not be 
disturbed. I hope you will sleep the headache off.” 

“ I hope so,” wearily replied the lady. 

“ Good-night, madame !” 

“ Good-night, child.” 

The little maid withdrew. 

Net clasped her hands above her burning and throb- 


THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS. 371 

bing head, and tried to pray again ; but she could utter 
no more than the most helpless, human cry. 

“ Lord ! Lord ! Have mercy.” 

Later on there came a gentle knock at her door. It 
was repeated two or three times before Net heard it, or 
rather before she noticed it or thought to answer it, so 
deeply was she absorbed in her troubles. 

“ Who is there ?” she inquired, expecting to hear the 
voice of a servant in reply. 

It is I — Adrian. They tell me you are ill, Net. 
Will you let me come in ?” inquired Mr. Fleming from 
without. 

Now Net and Adrian had never been fully reconciled. 
He had never yet crossed the threshold of Net’s cham- 
ber, wherever they might have been stopping. 

Net’s heart shrank within her at the sound of his 
voice, and at the request with which it was laden. She 
did not reply. She could not just then. 

“ Will you let me come in and see you. Net, dear ?” 
he repeated, and his tones were kind and affectionate 
as were his words. 

But Net was thinking of other words, in other tones, 
that were ringing through her memory : 

“ ‘ I do not intend to let Net bring those children to 
this house. * * I shall place them in an Orphan’s 

Home before a week is over their heads, without con- 
sulting “ Mistress ” Net.’ ” 

These were the words that rendered her deaf and 
insensible to any softer words from Adrian Fleming. 

“ Net — do you hear me, love ? Will you let me come 
in and see how you are ?” he resumed, after a listening 
pause. 

“ No, I thank you, Mr. Fleming. My head aches 
very badly, and I wish to be left in silence and dark- 
ness,” she replied at last. 


372 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


“ I am very sorry. I would like to do something for 
you, Net. Is there anything that I can do ?” 

“Nothing,” she answered, wearily. 

“ Is there anything you would like ?” 

“Yes, quietness, if you please.” 

He took the hint and saying : 

“ Good-night, dear,” he went away. 

Then the flood gates of Net’s grief were opened and 
she wept. 

Ah ! the contrast was so great between the gentle, 
affectionate words and tones of this evening and the 
cold, sarcastic, cruel words and tones of the afternoon. 

Still later there was another rap on the door. 

“ Who is it ?” inquired Net, a little impatiently. 

“ Knollis, madame. May I come in for a moment ?” 
answered the nurse who had attended Antoinette 
Deloraine during her last illness, and who had not yet 
left the house, but was going away in the morning. 

“ I came to see how you are, ma’am, and if I could 
do anything for you before I go to rest,” said the 
woman, approaching the bed. 

“ No, I do not think you can,” answered the sleepless 
and suffering girl. 

“ Nay, but, dear ma’am, the very weak and shaky 
tone of your voice proves what’s the matter with you. 
You are as nervous and excitable as you can be. All 
this trouble has been too much for you, ma’am, and if 
you do not get to sleep to-night you will be ill to mor- 
row, sure enough,” urged the woman. 

Net made no reply. 

“ I will mix you a composing draught, ma’am, that 
will put you to sleep, and give you a chance to recover 
yourself,” said the nurse. 

Net would have been glad to sleep and forget her 
troubles ; so she answered : 


THOSE BITTER, BITTER WORDS. 


373 


‘‘ I thank you, nurse. You may give me that sleep- 
ing draught. I suppose you know how to make it ?” 

“ I ? Oh, yes, my dear ma’am, I do !” replied Knollis ; 
“ and the sooner you have it the better. I won’t be five 
minutes.” 

She left the room and encounted Mr. Fleming in the^ 
hall. 

He it was, really, who had sent the nurse in to see 
after his wife ; and now he was waiting outside to hear 
her report. 

“ How is Mrs. Fleming ?” he inquired. 

“ She is just as nervous and excitable as it is possible 
for any human creetur to be sir ! I am going to give 
her a composing draught to quiet her, and if she gets a 
good sleep to-night I hope she will be all right to-mor- 
row.” 

“ After you have administered that composing 
draught, can you not remain with her through the night 
to watch its effects anxiously inquired Mr. Fleming. 

“ Which it is my intention so to do, sir,” replied the 
nurse, courtesying and hurrying off on her errand. 

She soon compounded the medicine and took it to the 
suffering girl, who took it willingly. 

Net was not used to sedatives and narcotics — in fact, 
she had never taken either in her life — and the conse- 
quence now was that the sleeping potion took prompt 
and powerful effect upon her, so that she was soon 
buried in a profound slumber that lasted through the 
night and late into the forenoon of the next day. 

Then she awoke much refreshed, and at first oblivious 
of her troubles. 

The nurse was sitting by the bed. 

I hope, Mrs. Knollis, that you have not been there 
all night,” she said. 

I ?— dear ma’am, yes ! I have not left you a 


374 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


minute, except to get a mouthful of breakfast at nine 
o’clock, and then Cally Adler took my place. How do 
you find yourself, ma’am, if you please V' 

“ I am very much better, I thank you.” 

** But you will take your breakfast in bed ?” 

“Not at all. I am going to get up. I suppose the 
gentlemen have breakfasted ?” 

“ Oh, yes, ma’am — two hours ago, and gone.” 

“Gone !” echoed Net. “ Where have they gone.?” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am ; but here is a note Mr. Flem- 
ing left to be given you when you waked,” answered 
the nurse, rising, taking a paper from the mantel-piece 
and handing it to the lady. 

By this time the tide of memory had turned and 
brought back all Net’s troubles to her mind. She 
opened the note, with a sinking heart. 

It ran as follows : 

“ Dearest Net. — I am told by the nurse that you are 
sleeping comfortably this morning, so I will not have 
you disturbed. I am going a part of the way home with 
Sir Adrian ; but I shall be back on Saturday morning. 
Take care of yourself. 

“Your true ’ Adrian.” 

Net did not know how to take this note, with the 
news it conveyed. Was it a respite from that impend- 
ing scene with her husband, which she dreaded so much, 
yet which she was determined to have ? — for she had 
decided to make a strong appeal to Mr. Fleming on be- 
half of the children. 

Not that she had much hope of its success. The 
words that she had heard seemed to preclude all possi- 
bility of a successful appeal to him in the interests of the 
little orphans. 


MR. .ADRIAN FLEMING S EXPEDITION. 


375 


But Net resolved to hazard it all the same. 

Now, however, it could not be made before Saturday 
morning, and Net began to feel the delay as a reprieve. 

She arose and dressed herself, and partook of a slight 
breakfast, and then sat down and wrote to Lady Arielle 
Montjoie, thanking her warmly for her protection of the 
children, and expressing a hope that she would be able 
to relieve her of the charge within a few days. 

Net sent this letter off immediately to be posted. 

She was very anxious to see the children, but ah ! 
very fearful that insurmountable obstacles would be 
thrown in the way of her doing so effectually. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MR. ADRIAN FLEMING’S EXPEDITION. 

Theirs were the shout, the song, the burst of joy. 

Which sweet from childhood’s rosy lips resoundeth, 
Theirs were the eager spirit naught could cloy. 

And the glad heart from which all grief reboundeth, 
Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, 

, Like the sunbeams to the gladdened earth.. 

And theirs was many an art to win and bless. 

The cold and stern to joy and fondness warming ; 

The coaxing smile — the frequent soft caress — 

The earnest, tearful prayer, all wrath disarming. 

Again the heart a new affection found. 

Nor thought that love with them had reached its bound. 

Caroline Norton. 

Adrian Fleming and his father had breakfasted pri- 
vately that morning, the former apologizing for his wife’s 
absence from the board by saying that she was temper- 


376 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


arily ill from the effects of excessive fatigue and excite- 
ment, though not so as to occasion anxiety. 

“ Then perhaps you will keep your word and drive to 
the station with me,” said the baronet. 

“ Certainly,” replied his son. 

As soon as they had breakfasted they entered the 
carriage that was waiting at the door and set out. 

Adrian Fleming not only went to the Deloraine Sta- 
tion with his father, but also accompanied him as far 
as the Deloraine Junction, where they were to separate. 
Sir Adrian to take the cross country train to Fleming- 
ton, and Mr. Fleming to continue on to London en 
route for Cumberland. 

“ Now what on earth takes you to the North at this 
season of the year, Adrian ?” inquired the baronet, just 
before they reached the parting place. 

“ Did I not tell you ? I am going to see after those 
children,” replied the young man. 

“ Ah ! Yon will do. You are prompt You have 
not said a word to your wife about it yet ?” inquired the 
baronet. 

“ Not a syllable ! She was still sleeping off that ner- 
vous headache when we left this morning.” 

“ Oh, ah, yes, to be sure ! And you will act without 
consulting her ?” 

“ Of course I I told you so ! I will have both the 
children entered into the Orphan’s Home before I say 
a single word to her on the subject.” 

“ That is right. It will save a world of controversy. 
Now we are at the junction and I get out here. Good- 
bye.” 

The baronet shook hands with his son, and got out 
as soon as the train stopped, and crossei^ the track to 
take another one. 

The train stopped for only thirty seconds. 


MR. ADRIAN FLEMINg’s EXPEDITION. 877 

Adrian Fleming reached Paddington Station at half- 
past three o’clock in the afternoon, and had just time 
to enjoy 4 comfortable luncheon before starting on the 
four o’clock train for Cumberland. 

Adrian Fleming resigned himself to sleep, and slept 
through the greater part of the night. 

At sunrise he was aroused by the arrival of the train 
at the Miston Branch Station, where he had to get out. 

The Miston train was ready, and he took his seat in 
an empty compartment of a first-class carriage, and 
settled himself again to sleep until the train reached 
Miston Station. 

There he found the fly from the Dolphin, with Jack 
Ken on the box, waiting for a chance passenger. 

He hailed the fly, engaged it, and told the boy to 
drive him on to the Dolphin. 

There he ordered breakfast, and after partaking 
freely of coffee, muffins, toast, game, ham and eggs, he 
ordered fresh horses put to the fly to carry him to 
Castle Montjoie. 

The horses then being fresh, the weight light, and 
the roads good, Mr. Fleming made the distance in less 
than two hours, and reached the castle about eleven 
o’clock. 

On being admitted by the porter he inquired for the 
young Countess of Altofaire. 

“ Her ladyship is at Cloudland on a visit to Lord 
Beaudevere and Miss Desparde,” answered the pomp- 
ous old man. 

“ Ah ! Well, the little children of the late Dr. Starr, 
who are the wards of my wife, are here, I believe ?” 

“ Yes, sir, they are here, and in excellent health." 

“ In whose charge have they been left?" 

“ In the care of a most respectable woman, who has 
been engaged as head nurse, and of a nursemaid." 


378 


BRANDON Coyle’s wife. 


“ Well, I have come to take the children away. I am 
sorry the countess should be absent at this crisis ; but 
if you will show me into the library and furnish me 
with stationery, 1 will write an explanatory letter to her 
ladyship,” said Mr. Fleming. 

“ Certainly, sir,” replied the porter, him.self leading 
the way to the library, and laying out the writing 
materials upon the table. 

“ And you will send the nurse to me, if you please.” 

“ Certainly, .sir,” replied the porter, pulling the bell. 

A footman appeared in answer to it.” 

“ Adams, go find nurse Cotton and tell her that Mr. 
Fleming, the gardeen of the little Starr children, have 
come to take them home with him,” were the instruc- 
tions given. 

The young footman “ bobbed ” and disappeared, and 
in a few moments Mrs. Cotton entered. 

She- was a plump, fair, pleasant-looking matron, of 
perhaps fifty years of age. 

“ You are the children’s nurse ?” inquired Mr. Flem- 
ing. 

“Yes, sir,” she answered, with a courtesy. 

“ Well, I have come to take them away. I am sorry 
the countess is not at home, but I will leave a note 
for her. Can you go with them to their new home ?” 

“ To Delorin Park where Mrs. Fleming has gone to 
live, as I am told, sir ? Yes,> sir, I think I can,” answered 
the woman. 

“ Can you be ready to leave the castle by two 
o’clock ?” 

“Yes, sir; if the housemaids will help me to pack 
the children’s clothes,” said the nurse. 

“The maids will have to do it. They have little 
enough to orkkepy their hands and keep ’em out of 
mischief, the Lord knows,” put in the old porter. 


MR. ADRIAN FLEMING’s EXPEDITION. 


379 


“ And now,” said Mr. Fleming, as he folded and 
directed the letter and handed it to the porter, “ I wish 
you to give this, with my warm thanks, -to Lady Alto- 
faire. And, nurse, I wish you to send the children to 
me here that I may renew my acquaintance with them. 
I used to be a favorite when I was reading with their 
father.” 

“Surely, sir, I will fetch them,” said the woman. 

She went out and soon returned with the children, 
who broke away from her hands at the sight of Adrian 
and rushed to him, clasping his knees, looking up in his 
face, and opening the subject nearest their hearts with- 
out the slightest ceremony. 

“ Nurse Totton say you’s doing to tate us home to 
mammam, and to wide in a wailwoad tar !’' began 
Luke. 

“ ‘ To wide in the wailwoad tar,’ ” echoed Ella. 

“ Humph ! Will you like to go inquired Adrian, 
with a smile. 

“ Oh ! Wese wike it so much !” exclaimed Luke. 

“ ‘ Wike it so much !” echoed Ella. 

“ Wese dlad to see oo,” said Luke. 

“ ‘ ’Ees, we is vezzy dlad to see oo,’ ” added Ella. 

And both children scrambled up on his knees and 
hugged and kissed him. 

“ What is my name, now ? I bet you don’t know ! ’ 
said Mr. Fleming. 

“Oh, ’ees we does! Oo ’s name is A-dy-wan,” ex- 
claimed Luke, in triumph. 

“ ’Ees ! Zat’s it — Ade-we-in ! We luzzes Ade-we- 
in !” added Ella, clasping the young man around the 
neck and giving him as strong a squeeze as her little 
arms could manage. 

If Adrian Fleming meditated any treason against 
these confiding children, his heart must have been 


380 


BRANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


harder and blacker than his worst enemy could have 
conceived. 

“ Now, guess what I have brought you !” he ex- 
claimed, diving his hand down in the deep pockets of 
his ulster, which, in the first busy hour of his arrival, 
he had not yet taken off. 

Nussin,” replied Luke, carelessly. 

“ Why do you think so ?” 

“ ’Tause you never did b’ing us nussin,” added the 
child, speaking positively from his own experience. 

“ No mens never did b’ing us nussin,” confirmed 
Ella, with a look of disapprobation. “ Mammam b’ings 
us petty fings, and so does Ayel and Vivin and Kit, but 
no mens never does, now daddy’s gone to Heaven.” 

“ Did daddy bring you pretty things ?” inquired 
Adrian^ laughing. 

“ Ezzei so pretty !” exclaimed Luke ; “ but no ozer 
mens but daddy ezzer did.” 

“ Wouldn’t you like to have another daddy to bring 
you pretty things?” inquired Adrian. 

“ Oh, ’es, indeedy !” exclaimed both children. 

“ Very well, then, look here !” exclaimed the visitor, 
drawing from his pocket a parcel and opening it. 

“ Oh-h-h-h r cried the children simultaneously. 

The parcel contained two automaton toys — a fiddler 
and a dancer. 

The children had cried out with delight only on 
beholding the figures, without suspecting their accom- 
plishments, for the fiddler w’as a gorgeous youth in blue 
cap, red jacket and yellow trousers, and the dancer was 
a beautiful damsel in a green dress spangled with gold. 

But when the figures were wound up and set to fid- 
dling and dancing, the breath of the children was 
momentarily suspended in ecstasy and their faces were 
a sight to behold ! 


MR. ADRIAN FLEMING S EXPEDITION 


381 


At least Adrian Fleming thought so. 

Never perhaps since the days of his own infancy had 
the young man enjoyed a pastime at once so pleasant 
and so innocent as this of witnessing the amazement 
and delight of these children. 

And now it struck him, rather as an epicurean in pleas- 
ure than as a benefactor, that he would like to continue 
such a new and droll amusement by giving the children 
a succession of delightful surprises before finally con- 
signing them to the Orphan’s Home he had in view. 

While he was thus entertaining himself the butler 
entered the room and inquired at what hour, sir,” he 
would like luncheon. 

Mr. Fleming consulted his watch and answered : 

“ It is now twelve o’clock. We leave the castle at 
two. I shall feel obliged by a glass of wine and a bis- 
cuit at about one o’clock.” 

The old servant bowed and inquired : 

“ If you would like to go to a dressing-room, sir, 
Adams will wait on you.” 

“Very well, send Adams to me, and send the nurse 
to take the children.” 

The butler bowed himself out, and was succeeded by 
Adams and the little nursemaid, Nelly Lacy. 

But the children made a rush to grab their automaton 
toys — Luke to seize the fiddler and Ella the dancer — 
to show to the girl ; but, ah ! the machinery had just 
run down and the fiddling and dancing stopped short. 

“ Mate em alive adain, Misser F’emin’ !” said Luke, 
thrusting the fiddler into one of Adrian’s hands, while 
Ella pushed the dancer into the other. 

The young man, laughing good-humoredly, wound 
them up, the fiddler first and then the dancer, and set 
them going on the table. 

Then leaving the children to the care of Nelly, with 


382 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


the direction to remember and have them ready for 
their journey at two o’clock, he followed the footman, 
who conducted him to a bedroom and dressing-room 
where he might refresh his toilet. 

At one o’clock Adrian Fleming sat down to a lunch-, 
eon, where the stipulated modest “ glass of wine and 
biscuit ” was amplified into oysters on the half shell, 
pigeon pie, Westphalia ham, quince tarots, calf-foot jelly, 
pale sherry and sparkling Moselle. 

Adrian Fleming could always appreciate a good meal, 
and he did full justice to this. 

At two o’clock the carriage that had brought Adrian 
Fleming to the castle was again at the door, and the 
children were all ready and eager for the journey. 

Well wrapped up in their fur-lined coats, they were 
standing in the lower hall, while one of the grooms 
stood holding open the door of the carriage. They were 
all waiting for Mr. Fleming, who was drawing on his 
gloves. . 

Anxious as the little ones had been for this journey, 
at the very last they had raised some objections to leav- 
ing unless certain conditions, for which they stipulated, 
should be fulfilled. 

Among the rest was the chief one — that P’udence 
should go. 

“ And who ’s P’udence ?” demanded the young man. 

“ Oo not know who P’udence is ?” inquired Luke, in a 
tone of pity bordering on contempt, for the gentleman’s 
ignorance. 

“ P’udence is our tat,” exclaimed Ella. 

“ And wese not doe wizzout her,” said Luke. 

“ Quite right ! Take the cat. If they don’t like her 
at the Orphan’s Home they can loose her or drown her. 
What I want to do is to get you peaceably there and be 
done with it.” 


MR. ADRIAN FLEMINg’s EXPEDITION. 383 

All but the first two words of this speech was spoken 
soto voce, and did not reach the ears of the children. 

Another stipulation was that Nelly, their nursemaid, 
should go ; and to that also their good-natured guard- 
ian assented, with the same mental reservation. 

“ If they don’t want these women at the Orphan’s 
Home, as probably they will not, I can pay their way 
back here again. All / want is a comfortable and 
pleasant journey with the little folks until I turn them 
over into other hands, and then let other people take all 
the discomfort and unpleasantness of crossing them, if 
they choose.” 

So the old nurse, Mrs. Cotton, the maid Nelly, and 
the cat Prudence, who, with sundry growlings, spitting 
and scratching had been put into a covered basket and 
fastened down, became the companions of their journey. 

Mr. Fleming, the children, and the cat, rode in the 
carriage, and the two women and the luggage in the 
“ break ” that followed it. 

They reached Miston in time to take the four o’clock 
train. 

Mr. Fleming engaged a whole compartment in a 
first-class carriage for himself and the children, and 
sent the two women and the cat into the second class, 
and so they started. 

This journey with two intelligent, curious and inquisi- 
tive children might have been considered a trouble- 
some one by most gentlemen, but not so by Adrian 
Fleming, who never permitted anything to trouble 
him. 

He was highly amused in watching the children's 
delight in their first railroad ride. 

And before he had time to be wearied with them 
they reached Miston Branch Junction, where they were 
to change trains. 


384 


BRANDON COTLE^S WIFE. 


He put the children and their cat in a compartment 
with the two women, and took another for himself and 
his cigar. 

The train reached London at a late hour in the 
evening. 

The children were fast asleep and had to be aroused 
in order to be taken from the carriage. 

Mr. Fleming engaged rooms at the Paddington 
Hotel, and the little ones were conveyed thither and 
put to bed by the nurses. 

Adrian Fleming went out and telegraphed to his 
wife that he had run up to London on business and 
would be detained there the whole of the next day, but 
would start for Deloraine Park the next evening and 
reach home on the following morning. 

Having sent this dispatch he returned to the hotel 
and ordered dinner, and after partaking of it, went to 
the theatre to spend the evening. 

So ended his day. 

On Friday morning he arose late, breakfasted later, 
and then rang for the nurse and inquired for the 
children. 

“ If you please, sir,” began Mrs. Cotton, “ the pre- 
cious lambs have been going on like wild-cats all the 
morning, in their impatience to get at you.” 

“ Very well ! Dress them up for a ride and bring 
them to me. I am going out with them.” 

In less than fifteen minutes the children were 
brought to Mr. Fleming, accoutred for their drive. 

They were “ uproarously ” glad to see him, climbed 
over and over him and covered him with caresses. 

” Well ! Do you want to go out and ride in a car- 
riage, and see all the beautiful shops were the walking 
dolls and the fiddlers and dancers come from ?” 

“ Oh, ’es, Misser Flemin’.” 



CHRISTMAS EVE. — See Page 396 







MR. ADRIAN FLEMING’s EXPEDITION. 


385 


“ Look here,” said Adrian. “ Didn’t you tell me 
that no ‘ mens ’ but ‘ daddy ’ ever gave you anything ?” 

“ ’Es, vvese did,” said Luke. 

“ Well, then, if I give you things, you ought to call 
me daddy.” 

“Aw wight, daddy !” said Luke, while Ella burst 
out laughing. 

He led them down stairs and put them into a carriage 
and took them first to Madame Taussaud’s wax-work 
show, at which they were in raptures. 

After that he gave them a lunch at the pastry-cook’s 
near, and allowed them to have just whatever they 
liked. Then he took them to an afternoon circus, 
where they seemed to have lost their senses in wonder 
and delight. 

It was late in the afternoon when they came out and 
re-entered the carriage. 

Then Adrian took them to the Burlington Arcade, in 
the Strand — that paradise of toys. And here he let 
them run wild among the treasures and get everything 
they wanted ; and, though the amusement cost him a 
considerable sum, he thought it worth the money. 

“ Besides, it is their last day out in the wicked world 
— poor litte imps ! — so lefthem make the most of it.” 

Finally he took them home to the hotel to tea. 

“ Well, how do you like London ?” he inquired, 
laughing, as he sat at table and watched them devour- 
ing bread and butter and jam. 

“ Oh, I fink wese have tomed to heaven !” cried Luke, 
rapturously. 

Adrian laughed aloud. 

“ Wot oo laugh for, daddy ?” inquired Ella. 

“ Because l think that with all this sight-seeing and 
gormandizing you will soon have reason to think you 
have come to the other place ! However, we have had 


386 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


the fun : now let the people at the Orphan’s Home 
have the trouble !” said Mr. Fleming. 

The children stared. They did not understand him. 

And very soon they had to be prepared to resume 
their journey. 

The hotel was but a few steps from the station, and 
the whole party were soon on board the train, where 
Adrian Fleming had put the children, nurses and cat, 
in one compartment to themselves and taken another 
for himself. 

Adrian Fleming, lighted and smoked out one fine 
Havana and threw away the stump. Then he pulled 
his traveling cap down over his eyes, thrust his hands 
down in the deep pockets of his ulster, turned himself 
sideways on his double seat, drew up his feet, leaned 
back his head, closed his eyes and settled himself to 
slumber through the night journey. 

Meanwhile the two women in the first-class carriage 
having the compartment to themselves, the children 
and the cat, and peeing the tired and sleepy children 
nod and pitch about, made up a bed of shawls and 
cloaks on the cushions of the opposite seat, and after 
loosing the clothes of the little ones, laid them there, 
where they slept soundly through all the noise and 
turmoil of travel, until the train stopped at the station 
nearest the Clerical Orphan’s Home selected by Adrian 
Fleming for their future residence. 

And this was not very far from Deloraine Park. 



CHAPTER XL. 

WHAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT, 

Rejoice, oh, grieving heart ! 

The hours fly fast ! 

With each some sorrow dies. 

With each some shadow flies. 

Until at last 

The red dawn in the East 
Shows that the night has ceased. 

And pain is past. 

Rejoice, then, grieving heart, 

The hours fly fast. Anonymous. 

Net Fleming had passed another sleepless night and 
anxious day, and then, on the Thursday evening, she 
received the telegram from her husband announcing 
that he was detained in London on business, but would 
leave town on Friday evening and reach Deloraine Sta- 
tion at 7 A. M. on Saturday morning, and would like to 
have the close carriage sent to meet him. 

This was no more than Net had expected ; for he 
had told her in his note of leave-taking that he should 
be back again on Saturday morning. 

Thursday night and Friday morning passed in poig- 

[387] 


388 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


nant anxiety, and Friday afternoon brought a letter 
that threw Net into despair. 

It was from Lady Arielle Montjoie, in answer to Net’s 
letter of Wednesday, and it conveyed the startling 
intelligence that Mr. Adrian Fleming had arrived at the 
castle on the Thursday morning and taken the children 
away during her absence in spending the day with her 
friend Vivienne at Cloudland. 

Lady Arielle told this news without a suspicion that 
the children had been removed without the knowledge 
and consent of their little mammam. 

She concluded her letter by hoping that the little 
ones might have a pleasant journey to Deloraine Park, 
and that Net might find them looking well and happy 
on their arrival. 

“And she thinks that / sent for them, and that Mr. 
Fleming is bringing them here, when in fact he is tak- 
ing them off to that Orphan’s Home ! ‘ Orphan' s Home !' 
Orphan’s Prison ! Orphan’s Purgatory, rather ! Oh, 
my poor babies ! I would almost rather have laid you 
in your little graves I And how can I respect my hus- 
band after this ? How can I even trust him ? Oh, 
Adrian ! Adrian ! how you have fallen !’’ she wailed. 

In all her trouble, however, she did not forget to 
send an" order to the stables that the coachman should 
leave the Park at five o’clock the next morning and go 
to Deloraine Station to meet his master, who would 
arrive at seven. 

Then she retired to her own room, prayed and went 
to bed — not to sleep, but to think of the children and 
the dreary, desolate life they would lead at the mis- 
named “ Home,’’ to resolve that she would not abandon 
them to such captivity without a struggle, but that she 
would expostulate with Adrian Fleming and remind 
him of his own words in regard to herself and these 


WHAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT. 


389 


children, that “ none but a brute would desire to separ- 
ate them from her.” 

But Net did not believe that her expostulations would 
have any effect. She could not comfort herself with 
any such hope. 

She began, as she lay there in her misery, to repeat 
over to herself the consoling promises of the Holy 
Word : 

“ Cast thy burden upon the Lord and He shall sus- 
tain thee.” 

“ Cast all your care upon Him, for He careth for you.” 

She tried to do this. She prayed for grace and 
strength to do it ; but, notwithstanding all her efforts 
she could not get rid of her trouble in that way, and so 
it was near morning before she fell asleep and slept the 
profound sleep of mental and bodily exhaustion. 

It was nine o’clock in the forenoon when she opened 
her eyes. She did not know whether she had awakened 
naturally, or whether she had been aroused by the 
commotion below, that now seemed to be ascending 
the stairs and approaching her own room. 

There seemed to be many voices and many steps. 
Wondering what could be the matter. Net arose, thrust 
her feet into slippers, drew on her dressing-gown, and 
went and opened the door. 

She started back in astonivshment, for she found her- 
self confronted with Adrian Fleming, who had just 
reached the spot, with a child on each shoulder. 

Yes ! amazing as it seemed, there were her two 
babies, in their brown fur coats and hats, reminding 
her of two little rabbits. 

“ Well, Net ! I have stolen a march on you and 
brought the children home ! ‘ Actions speak louder 

than words,’ my Net ! And so I thought I would go 
and fetch the imps myself by way of convincing you 


390 


BRANDON COYLE S WIFE. 


that they should be welcome,” he exclaimed in a joyous 
tone, as he set the children down upon their feet. 

“ Daddy toot wese to ze cirtus to see ze wile beases,” 
cried Luke, running to his little mamma. 

“And divved wese fizzlin and dancin’ dollies,” added 
Ella, clasping little mammam’s knees. 

Net sat down on the nearest chair and drew the 
children to her, and embraced and kissed them fondly 
before she faltered : 

“ I heard — I thought — I heard you tell the baronet 
that — that I should never bring the children here, but 
that — you would put them in the Orphan’s Home !” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! You heard that ? How did you hear 
that, Net ?” 

“ I — was in my dressing-room, you were in Sir 
Adrian’s. They join with only a thin partition, and I 
heard. I did not listen, but I could not help hearing.” 

“And you heard me tell Sir Adrian that I never 
meant to let you bring the children here, but meant to 
put them in an Orphan’s Home ?” 

“ Yes,” faltered Net, as she caressed her babies. 

“ Well, you heard aright. I did say that. I never 
meant that you should bring the children here, for I 
meant to take all that trouble off your hands and bring 
them myself. And I meant to put them in an Orphan’s 
Home, and this is the home for the orphans into which I 
meant to put them. Ha, ha, ha ! Do you understand 
now, my Net !” he demanded gayly. 

“ Oh, Adrian, how much misery it would have saved 
me if I had known this sooner. But did Sir Adrian 
understand your words as you have explained them to 
me ?” inquired Net, between the caresses she was lav- 
ishing on her recovered children. 

“ No ! He understood them as you did. I could not 
have a row with the governor on account of these little 


THAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT. 


391 


chaps, you know. But, dear Net, if I could have guessed 
that you had ever heard those words of mine I should 
have explained them to you before I left the house. I 
only went in that secret way to prepare a pleasant sur- 
prise for you in the arrival of these children." 

“ Oh, Adrian, how unjust I have been to you," said 
Net. 

“ I think that is quite likely," laughed the young man 
— adding : “ I am not half a bad fellow, Net ! And if 
you could only forgive my bad behavior at a time when 
I was crazy, and could give me another chance, you 
would find that I am not irreclaimably and unpardon- 
ably wicked." 

“ Oh, dear Adrian ! It is notj'c?u whom I cannot par- 
don, but myself ! Don’t you understand, dear, that I 
cannot forgive myself for making that humiliating mis- 
take of accepting from you the offer of marriage that 
was intended for another woman," said Net, between 
laughing and crying, as the tear-drops sparkled through 
her smiles like rain-drops through the sunshine. 

“ You accepted an offer of marriage that should have 
been made to you and you only, for you, and you only, 
had the right to expect such a one, " gravely replied 
Adrian. 

“ Mammam !" exclaimed Luke, who was* as exacting of 
attention as ever, “ less me down to do and see about 
Pudence ? Pudence is in ze bastet !" 

“ And dit ze fizzler and dancer to show oo !" added 
Ella. 

Both children were now struggling to get away ; so 
Net released them, and Adrian opened the chamber 
door, at which stood Nelly the nursemaid ready to take 
them in charge. 

And so, through the children, a full reconciliation was 
effected between the young married pair. 


392 


BRANDON Coyle's wife. 


“ But, Adrian, you must never permit those ridiculous 
children to call you ‘daddy!’’' exclaimed happy Net, 
smiling through her tears. 

“ Why not, if they like to ?” inquired the young man, 
laughing. 

“ Because it is too absurd !” 

“ But they call you ‘ mammy,’ or something like it.” 

“ Oh ! but I am used to hearing them do that. They 
began to do it with their first cry, I do believe. But 
whatever could have put it into their little noddles to 
call you ‘ daddy ?’ ” 

“Because I married their mammy, I suppose.” 

“ Nonsense, Adrian. What did they know about 
that ?” 

“ Can’t say. Young England is very knowing.” 

“ But how came they to do it ? Tell me that.” 

“ Then I suppose it was because T gave them gifts, 
and no other ‘ mens,’ as they say, except their daddy, 
ever gave them anything.” 

“ Such an old title I They might as well call you 
‘ granddad.’ ” 

“ They may if they like ! What odds ? But now, my 
dear Net, let us at once go seriously into the subject 
of these children and settle their status with us.” 

“ What is if that you wish in regard to them, Adrian?” 
inquired Net, a little doubtfully and fearfully, for a 
sudden suspicion seized her that she might not have 
understood him aright, and that he might wish to send 
the children away, after all. 

“ What do I wish ? I wish, as I suppose you do, to 
keep the children here under our own eyes, and 
bring them up as if they were our own little brother 
and sister, left to our love and care.” 

“ Oh I Adrian, shall we do that ? Oh, you are good ! 
You are so good ! No one knows how good you are but 


WHAT THOSE BITTER WORDS MEANT. 


393 


myself !” exclaimed Net, catching his hand and caress- 
ing it. 

“ I told you I wasn’t half a bad fellow, didn’t I ?” 
laughed the young man ; and then he resumed : “ You 
remember Antoinette spoke of some personal property 
of her own which she wished to give to these children, 
and would have given had she been of legal age to make 
a will ?” 

“ Yes, I remember.” 

“ And that she left it with you, as heiress, to carry 
out her wishes in this respect ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, Net, we must do so. T have consulted her 
lawyers. This property consists of money, which has 
accumulated during her long minority, and is at present 
lying idle in bank. It amounts to about ten thousand 
pounds. It must be at once invested in the names of 
these orphan children, and the interest must be left to 
accumulate until they shall have reached their majority. 
You and I, Net, will in the meantime be at the cost of 
their maintenance and education.” 

“ Oh, Adrian, how good you are !” 

“ Not nearly so wicked a fellow as you thought me, 
when you overheard that conversation between my 
father and myself, and misunderstood me ! Ah ! Net, 
you know the old proverb — ‘ Listeners never hear any 
good — ’ ’* 

“ I was not listening willingly, Adrian,” interrupted 
Net, with a violent blush. 

“ Do I not know that. Net ? But, oh ! my dear, if I 
had thought you had heard and misunderstood that 
conversation, I should never have gone off and left 
you to that terrible suspense. I was planning a joyful 
surprise for you, my dear Net ; but if I had known, 
I should have given you a prosy explanation instead of 
a pleasant surprise.” 


394 


BRANDON COYLE S WIP^. 


“ It has been a pleasant, a joyful, a delightful’ sur- 
prise, Adrian, And now I think we will get ready for 
our breakfast,” said Net, who all this time had been 
sitting in her wrapper and slippers. 

Adrian laughed and went off to his dressing-room to 
change his dusty traveling suit. 

Nelly Lacy answered Net’s summons and took off the 
children for the same purpose. 

Half an hour after they all met around the breakfast 
table, to which, for this occasion only, and because it 
was the day of their arrival at their new home, the two 
children were allowed to come. 


CHAPTER XLI 

LORD BEAUDEVERE’s STORY TOLD BY A CHRISTMAS FIRE- 
SIDE. 

Right well our Christian sires of old 
Loved when the year its course had rolled, 

And brought blithe Christmas back again. 

With all his hospitable train. 

Domestic and religious rite 
Gave honor to the holy night. 

On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 

On Christmas eve the hymns were sung ; 

All hailed with uncontrolled delight 
And general voice the happy night 
That to the cottage as the crown 
Brought tidings of salvation down. 

Sir Walter Scott. 

It was Christmas Eve. 

In the great hall of Cloudland a huge wood fire was 
burning. From the lofty oak ceiling, dark and polished 


LORD BEAUDEVERE’s STORY. 


395 


by time and not by art, the ancient iron cresset swung 
and lighted a scene that might have belonged to the 
ninth rather than to the nineteenth century. 

This hall was the most ancient part of the building. 
Klodd, the Saxon, with his rude boors, had feasted 
there long before it passed into the hands of his con- 
queror, John or Jean Beaue, the groom of Norman 
William and the ancestor of the Barons Beaudevere. 

Through all the restorations, enlargements and 
modern improvements of the castle, the barons had 
never allowed this hall to be touched, except in one 
particular : — in the reign of one of the earlier Henries 
the great chimney at the farther end opposite the door 
had been built. And ever since that time, at Christmas- 
tide, the yule log had been yearly drawn in and laid on 
the back of the immense cavernous fireplace, and the 
baron’s family had there gathered around the Christmas 
fire. 

It was a weird, ghostly, yet interesting and fascinat- 
ing scene. 

The heavy stone walls wer^e decorated with stags’ 
antlers, and other trophies of the chase, and hung with 
ancient armor and weapons, and looked as if they were 
haunted by the forms of old knights — 

“ Whose swords were rust, 

Whose bones were dust; 

Whose souls were with 
The Lord, we trust.” 

It was furnished with heavy oaken tables, chairs and 
settles, before which were laid, in lieu of rugs, well- 
tanned skins of leopards, bears and buffaloes. 

Never in all the centuries had lain so huge a yule log 
or blazed so splendid a fire as this that burned in the 
ancient chimney-place and lighted the old hall. 


396 


BRANDON COYLE^S WIFE. 


A historical oak, a marvel of age and size, had stood 
in the Cloudland forest from time immemorial. It had 
long ceased to show a leaf in summer, and every winter 
its dry twigs rattled and fell with every blast. 

In the preceding summer a thunderbolt had blasted 
the patriarch of centuries. Then the baron’s steward 
had ordered the riven giant limbs to be cut and sawed 
and given away by cords of wood to the poor on the 
estate, and the huge bole to be trimmed and carted to 
the castle for the yule log. 

Now it was blazing in the broad fireplace of the 
castle hall, and around it were gathered a group con- 
sisting of Lord Beaudevere, Lady Arielle Montjoie, 
Miss Desparde, and Mr. Valdimir Desparde. 

The order to serve dinner was given, and in a few 
moments it was announced. 

Lord Beaudevere gave his arm to Lady Arielle, and 
Valdimir to his sister, and so they went into the dining- 
room and enjoyed a very good meal. 

After dinner they adjourned to the hall, gathered 
around the great fire, seated themselves on the old 
oaken chairs, and, with their feet upon the lion’s skin 
that did duty for a rug, began to talk of Christmas 
times, ancient as well as modern — a theme suggested 
by the surroundings as well as by the season. 

It was noticeable that this talk was chiefly among 
the three young people, and that Lord Beaudevere 
gave brief and often eccentric answers to questions 
and remarks addressed to him. He seemed troubled 
and abstracted. 

Presently, in the lull of the conversation, he said : 

“ I think, my young friends, that the hour has come 
when I must tell you that passage in my early history 
which, from morbid sensitiveness, I have hitherto kept 
from you.” 


LORD BEAUDEVERE’s STORY. 


397 


Lady Arielle, feeling- that this address was made to 
Valdimir and Vivienne, and that the story to be told 
concerned them, arose quietly to steal away from the 
hall. 

But Lord Beaudevere stopped her with a word : 

Stay ! Resume your seat, Lady Arielle. This 
interests you as well as ourselves. Are you not one of 
us ?” 

The young lady sat down again gladly, for, in truth, 
she was as curious as any one to hear the story of Lord 
Beaudevere’s early life, as it affected her betrothed 
husband and his sister. 

Lord Beaudevere passed his hand once and again 
over his thoughtful and troubled brow, then smiled on 
the expectant circle, and began : 

beaue’s little romance. 

“ My father, the late baron, had but one son and no 
daughter. He lost my mother when I was but a few 
months old, and he never gave her a successor. It fol- 
lowed that my earliest idea of my mother was of an 
angel in heaven. 

“ I had, therefore, neither brother nor sister, but in 
place of both — in place of all childish companions — I 
had my little cousin, my father’s orphan niece, whom 
he had adopted for the sake of his dear lost sister. 

“ We were of the same age, and as much attached to 
each other as any twin pair that ever lived. The 
nurses used to call us the ‘love birds.’ 

“ We shared the same nursery until we were five 
years old, when we were separated. That was the 
first sorrow of my life, and you will laugh, my lad and 
lasses, when I tell you it was one of my sharpest. 

“ But think of it ! I had never, within my memory, 
gone to sleep except with my arms around Vivi’s neck, 


39S feRANDON COTLE^S WIFE. 

or her’s around mine. So I cried all night in my lone- 
some crib, and so had she in hers, as I learned when I 
met her at the nursery breakfast the next morning — 
met her with as much joy as if we had been parted for 
years instead of for hours ! 

“ We still shared the same day nursery, and the same 
lessons under our young nursery governess, until we 
were seven years old, when a more accomplished 
teacher took charge of us, a lady, who conducted our 
education for the next three years. 

“ Then came another trial, and we were separated by 
day as well as by night. A tutor was engaged for me 
and I took my lessons in a room off my father’s library 
instead of in the school-room, which was given up now 
to Vivi and her governess. 

“ But still we met at meal-times, where we also en- 
joyed the society and surveillance of the tutor and gov- 
erness. And so two more years passed away, and I had 
to go to Eton. I pass over that parting. I do not sup- 
pose that any school-boy in existence ever behaved so 
badly as I did on leaving home ; it was all because I 
was leaving Vivi. 

“ But if any boy ever carries anything sentimental or 
mawkish to Eton College it is bound to be knocked and 
cuffed out of him, mind you. To say nothing of my 
studies, which really did engage and interest my mind, 
1 had fights enough on my hands to employ all my 
leisure time and keep me from pining after Vivi. 

“ But when the holidays drew near all my slumbering 
love was re awakened, and I thought of nothing but of 
going home and meeting Vivi. 

“And every time I went home and saw her she 
seemed more beautiful than ever, and I loved her more. 

“ I spent four years at Eton, and then came home for 
a visit previous to entering the university at Oxford. 


LORD BEAUDEVERE^S STORY. 


399 


I was then a mere stripling of sixteen, not tall for 
my age — quite the reverse — for I was of slow growth, 
and no taller nor stouter than many a boy of thirteen. 

“ I came home and found Vivi, at sixteen years of 
age, shot up into a beautiful and blooming young 
woman, a head taller than myself. This was mortifying 
to me, especially as she assumed the airs of a woman 
and treated me as a child. 

“ I was in despair until certain news reached us from 
India. The letters and documents came just a few 
days before I was to have left home for Oxford to enter 
Trinity College — where, by the way, all my forefathers 
and uncles have been educated since the college was 
founded. 

“The news was that our uncle — my father’s and 
Vivi’s mother’s brother — a wealthy merchant of Cal- 
cutta, had died unmarried, and left the whole of his 
immense wealth to his sole nephew, John Beaue, and 
sole niece, Vivienne Leville — share and share alike — 
upon one condition — that they should marry each other. 
But if either one should refuse to marry the other, the 
party so refusing should forfeit all share in the estate, 
which should then go undivided to the party refused, 
with the further condition that the last inheritor should 
have no power, to alienate any part of the property in 
favor of the defaulting and disinherited one, and in case 
of attempting to do so, should forfeit the whole, which 
should then go to found a Lunatic Asylum. 

“ Such was the purport of our uncle’s will. My father 
told me he hoped I would not be such an idiot as to 
forfeit such a splendid fortune by refusing to marry 
Vivienne Leville. 

“I told him, with truth, that, on the contrary, so far 
was I from any thoughts of refusing to marry my 
cousin, and so dear was she to my soul, that if my 


400 


BRANDON COYLE 'S WIFE. 


uncle and my father had both threatened to disinherit 
me for marrying her, I should have tried to win her all 
the same. 

“ My father wanted the betrothal to take place then ; 
so did 1, you may depend. This was accomplished 
without any love-making on my part. We three — my 
father, my cousin and myself — being together in the 
drawing-room, after dinner, my father broached the 
subject to Vivi, by speaking of our uncle’s death and 
reading the will. 

“ ‘ If you accept the conditions of the will and marry 
John, my girl, you will be the future Baroness Beau- 
devere, with an income from your united fortunes of 
fifty thousand pounds a year. Come, what do you say ?’ 

“ ‘Jack has not asked me yet,’ laughed my cousin. 

“ ‘ Has not he ? Well, he told me just now that he 
had meant to marry you, if he could get you, even if 
the consequences had been his disinheritance instead of 
his enrichment !’ 

“ ‘ Did you say that. Jack ?’ she asked. 

“ ‘ Yes, and I meant it, Vivi,’ I stammered, for I was 
an awkward boy, then at the most awkward age of boy- 
hood. 

“‘Very well, then. It is settled,’ said my father; 
and he took our hands and joined them. 

“ ‘ Is it settled, Vivi ?’ I asked. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ she laughed. 

“ ‘ And you will be my wife, truly ?’ I asked breath- 
lessly. 

“ ‘ Of course,’ she answered. ‘ Do you suppose I am 
going to forfeit fifty thousand pounds per annum for 
you 1 Go along, boy !’ 

“ Though I was not quite satisfied with the way in 
which she answered me and could have wished she had 
been more earnest, I went away to Oxford next morn- 


LORD BEATJDEVERe’s STORY. 


401 


ing- as happy as a king ! I was sure of her now, or at 
least I thought so ! I sent her a betrothal ring from 
London set with a solitaire diamond worth a farm, 

“ No day was yet fixed for our marrirge. We were 
yet but young. It was understood, however, that we 
were betrothed to each other, and neither of us in the 
matrimonial market. The baron, my father, was so 
well satisfied with our engagement that he took very 
good care to let it be known generally. 

“ At the end of every college term I came home here 
to visit my cousin, my betrothed. And every time 
found her more lovely and attractive. She did not 
keep on growing taller. She had stopped growing, for 
which circumstance I was very thankful ; for / had not 
stopped growing. I was quickly overtaking her in 
height. When we were both eighteen I was as tall as 
she was. When we were twenty-one I was half a head 
taller. 

“ Then I graduated from old Trinity with some honor, 
and we all came up to London to our town house for 
the season. 

“ My father, from excessive caution, had not brought 
my young cousin up for a season in town before this, 
lest there should be some possible chance of some other 
aspirant for her hand that might make trouble ; but 
now that I had left the university never to return, and 
our marriage day was fixed and near at hand, we all 
came up to town for the season and occupied our house 
in South Audley street. We got the dowager Lady 
Leville, a distant relation of my mother’s, to come and 
stay with us to chaperone Vivi. 

“ Vivi was first of all presented at court and then 
entered society — threw herself into it rather — wildly, 
madly, as only a country girl secluded from the world 
until she was twenty-one and then brought out in Lon- 


402 


BRANDON COYLE 'S WIFE. 


don at the height of the fashionable season, under such 
auspices as hers, could do. 

“ I went with her everywhere, followed her, watched 
her, closely, jealously. Among the many admirers her 
beauty and reputed wealth drew around her was one 
whom I cannot even now recall without a pang — 
Thadeus Valdimir Desparde, a captain in the horse 
guards. He was called by women the handsomest and 
most fascinating man in London. He was called by 
the men the best, freest, most generous fellow alive. 

“ I cannot dwell upon this part of the story, my friends 
— I suffered the tortures of souls in purgatory when I 
saw how interested in this man my cousin had become. 
No, I cannot go into details. Even my father saw the 
danger at last, and he expostulated with his niece, and 
— only offended her ! 

“ Our marriage day drew near. Our wedding was to 
have taken place in London. But my father, seeing the 
danger, suddenly resolved to leave town and have our 
marriage celebrated at Cloudland. Vivienne made no 
opposition to the plan, and my hopes of happiness were 
revived, — only for a few hours, however, for the day 
before we were to have left London Vivienne Leville 
disappeared.” 

Here the baron paused in his story and put his hand to 
his head— a gesture common to him when disturbed. 

Miss Desparde, whose eyes had been fixed on him 
with the deepest sympathy throughout his narration, 
now left her seat and drew a hassock to his side, sat 
down by him and took his hand and kissed it. 

The baron drew his hand away from her and laid it 
on her head with a gesture of benediction. Then he 
resumed his story with more cheerfulness : 

“ When we next heard of my cousin she was the wife 
of Captain Desparde. She wrote a letter to my father 


LORD BEATJDEVERe’s STORY. 


403 


and myself, pleading forgiveness, saying that she loved 
me as a dear brother, but could not think of me in any 
other light ; that she loved Captain Desparde with all 
the str-ength of her being, and was willing to forfeit for 
his sake the coronet of Beaudevere and the wealth of 
the Indies, and to go with him to Jamaica, where the 
regiment into which he had exchanged was ordered. 

“ That was the last we heard of Vivienne for seven 
years. I had a brain fever, but got over it without any 
lasting injury to my constitution. A year passed away, 
and my father urged upon me my duty, as an only son 
and the sole heir to the old barony, to marry. But I 
could not bring my mind to it. Four more years passed 
away, and then my father left me. He had been a 
childless widower and long passed middle age when he 
married my mother, and so he was quite aged when he 
passed away, and I, at the age of twenty-six, became 
the last Baron of Beaudevere. 

“ I traveled on the Continent for two years, and then 
returned to Cloudland, a disappointed, solitary, but, 
thank Heaven ! not a soured or embittered man. 

“ Then I one day received a letter that gave me an 
electric shock ! — a letter from my cousin Vivienne, ask- 
ing me to come to her for the Lord’s sake, for that she 
was widowed and dying in destitution and dishonor — ” 

“ Dishonor !’’ exclaimed Valdimir and Vivienne, in 
one voice of agony. 

“ Stay ! She thought so. It was her mistake then, as 
it was yours afterwards, my lad. And from the same 
cause. You were in error. No dishonor ever attached 
to your name, my young cousins. And now let me 
go on. 

“ I read the letter in my eagerness, on recognizing 
her handwriting, before I even looked at the date. 
When I did, I saw that it was written from Kingston 


404 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


on the Island of Jamaica. You will despise me, my 
young people, but I arose up from reading that letter, 

* all on fire with joy,’ determined to go at once — to start 
that very day for London and sail in the first ship or 
craft, whatever it might be, that should leave the West 
India Docks. And I knew that one or more left every 
day ; for I had resolved to marry my cousin yet if she 
would have me — to marry her widowed and destitute 
and dying as she was, and dishonored as she might be, 
if such a thing could be possible. 

“ I went down to London without a servant ; I found 
a sailing ship outward bound with the tide and engaged 
my passage on her. In due time I reached the Island 
of Jamaica and the town of Kingston. I found my kins- 
woman, with two children, in poor lodgings, and in a 
dying condition — much further gone than I had ex- 
pected to find her ; to have spoken of marriage to her 
would have been the bitterest mockery. 

“ I found her suffering not only from bodily but from 
mental distress. She gave me a history of her short 
married life. It had been a happy marriage, because it 
had been a love match, although her husband had been 
wild, very wild, and had got into debt, and finally been 
obliged to sell out his commission under penalty of 
being dismissed from her majesty’s service — only for 
debt, for nothing worse at that time, she said. 

“ But then she hesitated, wept, wrung her hands, and 
— could not tell me, but showed me a paper. My dears, 
you know the fallacy of newspaper reports } A 
garbled account of that execution in New Orleans had 
been published in the West Indian Signal^ by which it 
was made to appear that Captain Valdimir Desparde 
was the felon who had suffered the extreme penalty of 
the law on that occasion. 

“ I was shocked beyond all measure, but I was also 


LORD BEAIJDEVERe’s STORY. 


405 


very incredulous. I knew there must have been 
some mistake. But my first care was to remove my 
dying- cousin and her two children to more comfortable 
apartments, and to provide her with all that her con- 
dition required, the best medical attendance among 
the rest. 

“ Then — as I could not talk with her upon a subject 
so extremely distressing and exciting — I set about, 
through other channels, to find out the truth in regard 
to Captain Desparde. And I soon learned it, as she 
might have learned if she had known how to inquire. 

“ I discovered that Captain Desparde had left Kings- 
ton to go on some business to New Orleans, had 
remained there but a short time and embarked on a 
steamboat to return to his wife and children, whom, it 
appears, he had fondly loved through all his wild 
career, when the steamer was wrecked and many of the 
crew and passengers were lost. 

“ His name, by some mistake, never appeared in the 
list of the lost, nor was it known to his wife that he 
had embarked on that ill-fated ship. But I ascertained 
the fact beyond all doubt. 

“ It was much easier to assure myself of the identity 
of the felon who was executed in New Orleans under 
the alias of Valdimir Desparde. 

“ When I found myself in possession of the whole 
unquestionable truth I made it known to my cousin, 
and soothed her last hours wdth the good news that her 
husband had died a blameless man, and notwithstand- 
ing all his wildness, had left an unstained name to their 
children. 

“ And I promised to adopt those children, and bring 
them up as my own. A week after that my cousin fell 
asleep in my arms to wake no more in this lower world. 
We left her mortal remains in St. John’s Cemetery 


406 


BRANDON COTLe’s WIFE. 


at Kingston, and I brought her children home with 
me. 

“ My lad and lasses, my story is told, and now you 
know why I have lived a bachelor all my past life, and 
why I must expect to be solitary all my future,'’ con- 
cluded the baron, with a sigh and a smile. 

Vivienne, who was still sitting on a low hassock at 
his feet, holding his hand, and gazing up into his face 
with her dark eyes full of tenderest sympathy and 
deepest reverence, now spoke in low, impassioned 
tones : 

“ Not solitary while I live, dearest Beaue. She treated 
you badly, Beaue ; but she could not help it, you know, 
if she loved somebody else. She would have treated 
you worse if she had been false to herself and married 
you under such circumstances. And, dearest Beaue, 
she left you me — my mother left you me — and I will 
never leave you — never, never leave you !” 

The baron laid his hand upon her beautiful young 
head and smiled as he might have smiled on a child, as 
he said : 

“ But some one may be taking you away from me, 
dear. I could not be so selfish as to wish to prevent 
that.” 

“ I know what you mean, Beaue,” said Vivienne. 
“ You mean that I may be asked in marriage. Well, I 
have often been asked. I could not help it, with all my 
coldness and discouragement of such offers ; but I 
shall never, never, never leave you, Beaue, and, of 
course, never marry — unless — ” Her voice failed. 

“Unless what, my dear ?” inquired the baron, kindly 
stroking her head. 

She did not answer, nor did he understand her. 

Would he ever understand her ? 

Hardly ; for Beaue was rather self-depreciating in 


LORD BEAUDEVERE’s STORY. 


407 


all respects ; and besides that, he was one of those who 
could not be made to believe a truth — sometimes made 
manifest — that a young woman could love an old man. 

He turned to Valdimir and said : 

“You will now perhaps understand the morbid sensi- 
tiveness that kept me silent on the subject of your early 
life, Desparde.” 

The young man bowed gravely. He was thinking 
how much Lord Beaudevere must have vailed under 
the convenient term of “wildness” that was at least 
reprehensible in the career of the late Captain Desparde. 
The selling of his commission to pay his debts ; the sub- 
sequent bringing of his fa^mily to destitution — and leav- 
ing them so in a foreign city, while he himself went off 
somewhere else — all these circumstances in themselves 
hinted at a story, that might yet be told, not pleasant 
for the son to hear. 

But he had heard enough. 

And now the clock struck twelve, and the Christmas 
bells rang out in joyous peals of welcome as to a new- 
born babe. 

The circle around the fire arose and smilingly ex- 
changed their mutual good wishes, and retired to rest. 

Lady Arielle Montjoie, as we have continued to call 
her, because of her extreme youth and our own habit, 
although since the death of the late earl she had been 
Countess of Altofaire— remained at Cloudland until 
after Twelfth day, and then returned to Castle Mont- 
joie, accompanied by Vivienne. 

Early in the new year came news of Brandon Coyle. 
The officers that had been sent out in pursuit of him 
returned without him and with intelligence that under 
any other circumstances must have been received with 
grief, but under the existing ones was hailed by his 
relatives with a sense of infinite relief. 


408 


BRANDON COYLE’s WIFE. 


Brandon Coyle had never reached the shores of the 
New World. 

One stormy winter day, when the ship was in ex- 
treme peril off the coast of Newfoundland, and he 
persisted in staying on deck against the advice of the 
officers, he was blown overboard and drowned. Rescue 
had been impossible. Even his body was irrecoverably 
lost. 

The captain of the ship took charge of his effects and 
held them subject to the order of his heirs. 

The detective officers on their arrival at New York 
learned these facts, took possession of the property of 
the deceased, and returned with it to England. After 
making their report to the Chief of Police, they came 
down to Caveland and delivered up their trust to old 
Mr. Coyle. 

Four thousand nine hundred pounds of the five thous- 
and drawn upon the forged check were recovered and 
returned to the bank. 

And old Mr. Coyle and his niece breathed freely. 
This ending was so much better than that which they 
had had every reason to fear for Brandon Coyle. 

The old squire, “ with the sigh of a great deliver- 
ance,” took his niece to Italy for the winter. 

While they were sojourning in Rome they made the 
acquaintance of a young Roman gentleman of incred- 
ible nobility and poverty, who, attracted by the beauty 
and wealth of the heiress, laid his title and his destitu- 
tion at her feet. 

Aspirita, in desperation, accepted them and became 
the Marchesa Maniola. 

Old Mr. Coyle returned to his native land with a 
double sense of satisfaction and security. Brandon 
could never now be hung for murder ; Aspirita would 
never now run away with a footman. 


LORD BEAUDEVKRe’s STORY. 


400 


He settled down to his own quiet, hindly, comfortable 
life at Caveland, beloved and honored by his servants 
and tenantry, and esteemed and respected by his neigh- 
bors. 

And so we leave the old squire. 


MARRIAGE IN MAY WEATHER. 

In the prime of the spring a happy party was gathered 
at Castle Montjoie to witness the marriage of John 
Beaue, Baron Beaudevere, of Cloudland, to Vivienne, 
only daughter of the late Captain Desparde, of her 
majesty’s army ; and also that of Mr. Valdimir Des- 
parde with Arielle Montjoie, Countess of Altofaire. 

Yes, Beaue was happy at last — as happy as it was in 
the nature of man to be — in the assurance of his young 
bride’s pure and devoted love, which had grown for him 
from her childhood up, and had been founded on an 
admiration for his character which almost amounted to 
adoration. 

By Arielle’s instance, the marriage of the baron and 
his chosen bride took precedence, but was immediate- 
ly followed by that of Mr. Desparde and the young 
countess. 

The ceremonies were performed in the chapel by the 
Rev. Mr. Lucas, assisted by the Rev. Mr. Matthew, and 
were conducted in a very unostentatious manner. 

The brides were dressed alike in white silk, with 
white Brussels lace vails, orange flower wreaths, and 
pearl ornaments. There were no bride-maids nor 
groomsmen. 

In the first marriage Valdimir Desparde gave his sis- 
ter away. In the second marriage the baron performed 
the same office for the young countess. 

The witnesses were very few— old Mr. Coyle, Dr. 


410 


BEANDON COYLe’s WIFE. 


Bennet, Mr. and Mrs. Adrian Flemingf, and the family 
solicitor, who had come down for the marriage settle- 
ments, and the upper servants, who were gathered in 
the rear. 

The old housekeeper and butler were aghast at this 
simplicity, and declared that it was enough to make all 
the old earls and countesses rise up out of their coffins 
and come in procession to remonstrate against their 
last descendant being married in this plain manner. 

And they told each other traditions that had been 
handed down to them about the grand weddings of for- 
mer times at Castle Montjoie. 

After the last ceremony the company adjourned to 
the dining-room, where the wedding breakfast was laid. 

Old Squire Coyle was invited to take the head of the 
table. All honor was done this old gentleman by the 
neighbors that loved him. 

The breakfast went on merrily. 

Mr. Adrian Fleming arose in his place and made a 
little speech in proposing the health of the two brides. 

Beaudevere arose and responded on the part of the 
ladies. 

Then other healths were drank, and the merry meal 
came to an end. 

The brides withdrew to change their wedding-dresses 
for traveling suits of lavender poplin, with sacks, hats 
and gloves to match, and half an hour later drove off in 
an open carriage with their husbands, followed by a 
shower of good wishes and old slippers. 

They drove together to the Miston Station and took 
the London train en route for Paris. 

They passed the conventional four weeks very pleas- 
antly in the French capital, and then returned to their 
country homes in Cumberland. 

Mr. Desparde and the young countess took up their 


LORD BEAUDEVERE’s STORY. 


411 


abode at Castle Montjoie, and Lord and Lady Beau- 
devere settled down at Cloudland. 

They visited each other often. 

* * Hs * * 

Only a few years have passed since then, but chil 
dren have been born to both households, and girls and 
boys are growing up in the old homes. 

Valdimir Desparde is no longer the heir presumptive 
of the Barony of Beaudevere, for an heir-apparent has 
seen the light ; but Valdimir is compensated in another 
way. By the terms of the marriage settlements, it will 
be remembered, he had agreed to assume the name 
and arms of Montjoie. For that reason and others, 
within three years after his marriage with the last 
heiress of the house, he was granted the reversion of 
the old title and became the Earl of Altofaire. 


THE END. 


An Entertaining^ Book. 


A PRIESTESS OF COMEDY. 

, (COMODIE.) 


BY 

NATALY VON ESCHSTRUTH. 


Translated from the German by Elise L. Lathrop. 

ILLUSTRATED BY WARREN B. DAYIS. 

12ino. 312 Pages. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $1.25. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This splendid novel first appeared in this country in the original 
German in the New York Staats-Zeitung. The publication in 
English is by arrangement with the Staats-Zeitung. It is a novel 
of unusual excellence, conforming to the best models of literary 
art, full of tragic interest, lightened by strokes of pure comedy, 
and abounding in admirable sketches of modern society. No re- 
cent novel has appeared in Germany which has attracted more 
interest and favorable comment from the best judges. The title 
is thoroughly descriptive of the book. The heroine is an original 
and interesting character. The author is one of the most popular 
German novelists. The story is beautifully illustrated by Mr. 
Warren B. Davis, and it is issued in cloth and paper covers, uni- 
form with ‘‘Miss Mischief,” by Heimburg. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A French Detective Novel. 


THE FROLER CASE. 

BY 

J. L. JACOLLIOT. 

Translated from the French by H. O. Cooke. 

ILLUSTRATED BY A. W. TAN DEUSE N. 

12mo. 230 Pages. Handsomely Bound in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


This story is a characteristic French detective novel, equal to 
the best of Gaboriau’s. The plot is laid in the Central Office of 
the Parisian police, and the victim of the murder is at the head 
of the detective bureau. The boldness, the mystery and the ob- 
stacles in the way of the escape of the perpetrator of the crime 
lend themselves to produce a deep and thrilling interest to every 
page and chapter of the novel. There are no detective stories so 
good as the French, from which all our American stories of the 
kind are modeled. “The FrolerCase” is the work of a past- 
master in the art, of whom the author of “ The Leavenworth 
Case ” might take lessons. There is nothing exaggerated or im- 
probable, and no failure to keep the movement of the story brisk 
and exciting. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


Heimburg’s New Novel, 


MISS MISCHIEF. 

(MAMSELL UNNUTZ.) 

BY 

W. HEIMBURG. 

Translated from the German by Mary Stuart Smith, 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY WARREN B. BA VIS. 

12mo. 850 Pag-es. Handsomely Botmd in Cloth. Price, $1.50. 
Paper Cover, 50 Cents. 


Heimburg’s new novel is one of the most interesting books that 
have come from her pen. It is the story of a young girl brought 
from Italy to Germany and reared amid scenes and circumstances 
uncongenial to her nature. Unappreciated and misunderstood, 
it is not strange that her acts are misinterpreted and that she gets 
the reputation of being a good-for-nothing and mischievous child; 
but so interesting is her character and so skillfully are her fine 
traits developed by the author that the reader is surprised by the 
vision of beauty and truth and heroism which, as the story pro- 
ceeds, dawns upon the mind. Miss Mischief” becomes a noble 
woman, and by her self-sacrifice, patience and energy repays a 
hundred-fold all the protection and assistance which have been 
grudgingly given to her during her childhood. The story is a 
charming one, the characters are interesting, and the incidents 
natural ; and the book is laid down with a feeling of entire satis- 
faction and admiration for the author. 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


A Thrilling Novel. 


THE HAUNTED HUSBAND. 


BY 

MRS. HARRIET LEWIS, 

Author of Neva's Three Lovers f Her Double Life^^ 
^Beatrix Rohan f Lady Kildare f etc. 


TTJTff ILLUSTRATIONS BY VICTOR PERARD. 


12mo. 393 Pagres. Handsomely Boimd in Cloth. Price, $1.00. 
Paper Cover, 60 Cents. 


In ** The Haunted Husband ” Mrs. Lewis deals with some of 
the most interesting phases of human experience. It is not in the 
power of men or women to escape the consequences of their acts, 
for if those consequences are not always visible and material, it is 
all the more certain that the spirit suffers ; and whether one is 
haunted by visions or by remorse, or the body suffers from pov- 
erty and hunger, the penalties of our acts are equally hard to 
bear. It is Mrs. Lewis’s strong hold upon this primary fact of 
human life that enables her to realize the characters and carry to 
their conclusion the relations, situations and circumstances which 
• her story involves. All who have read “Her Double Life” should 
read “The Haunted Husband.” 

For sale by all booksellers and newsdealers, or sent, postpaid, 
on receipt of price, by the publishers, 

ROBERT BONNER’S .SONS, 

Cor. William and Spruce Streets, New York. 


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35^. if you cannot find it. 


THE LEDGER LIBRARY. 




1.— HER DOUBEE EIFE. By Mrs. Har- 
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il.— UNKNO>V'N. By Mrs. Southworih.' 

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3. — THE GUN3IAKER OF MOSCOW. By 

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4. — MAUD MORTON. By Major A. K. 

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D. E. N. Southworth. Cloth, $1.00 ; paper, 
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G.-SUNDERED HEARTS. By Mrs. Har- 
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7. -THE STONE-CUTTER OF LISBON. 

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30. 

31. 

32. 

33. 


—REUNITED. By A Popular Southern 
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— 31RS. HAROLD STAGG. By Robert 
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-THE NORTHERN LIGm’. Iraus- 
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AN INSIGNIFICANT WOMAN. 
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LITTLE HEATHER - BLOSSOM. 

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WAS SHE WIFE OR WIDOW? By 
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THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. By Hon- 


36. - 

37. 

38. 

39. - 

40. - 

41. - 

42. -, 

43. - 

44. - 

45. - 

46. - 

47. - 

48. - 

49. - 

50. - 

61.- 

52. - 

53. - 

54. - 

55. - 
66 .- 
67.- 


ore De Balzac. Cloth, $1 .00 ; paper, 60 cts. 
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y V. ^ ^ ^ ^ 

/ “ 77 «> 

/ w . 

/ O 

^ * Lm/ ^ 

THE LEDGER LIBRARY— Continued 

EVERY NUMBER BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


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OO.-TIIE HUNGARIAN GIRL. From the 
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07. -BEATRIX ROHAN By Mrs Haniet 

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and Newsdealers, or sent postpaic 


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